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THE 
SOCIAL 


\ 


DAVID  GRAHAM  PHILLIPS 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

CALIFORNIA 

SANTA    CRUZ 


The  Social  SecretaGS 


. 


THE  SOCIAL 
SECRETARY 

4* 

DAVID  GRAHAM  PHILLIPS 
Author  of  The  Plum  Tree 
The  Cost  etcetc. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 
CLARENCE  E  UNDERWOOD 

Decorations  by 
Ralph  Fletcher  Seymour 


New    York 

Grosset    &    Dunlap 

Publishers 


COPYRIGHT  1905 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 

OCTOBER 


PS 


The  Social  Secretai35 


The  Social  Secretac£ 


I 


NOVEMBER  29.     At  half-past 
one  to-day — half- past  one  ex 
actly — I  began  my  "career." 
Mrs.  Carteret  said  she  would  call  for 
me  at  five  minutes  to  one.    But  it  was 
ten  minutes  after  when  she  appeared, 
away  down  at  the  corner  of  I  Street. 
Jim  was  walking  up  and  down  the 
drawing-room;  I  was  at  the  window, 
watching  that  corner  of  I   Street. 
"There  she  blows!"  I  cried,  my  voice 
brave,  but  my  heart  like  a  big  lump  of 
something  soggy  and  sad. 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

Jim  hurried  up  and  stood  behind  me, 
staring  glumly  over  my  shoulder.  He 
has  proposed  to  me  in  so  many  words 
more  than  twenty  times  in  the  last  three 
years,  and  has  looked  it  every  time 
we've  met — we  meet  almost  every  day. 
I  could  feel  that  he  was  getting  ready 
to  propose  again,  but  I  hadn't  the  slight 
est  fear  that  he'd  touch  me.  He's  in 
the  army,  and  his  "pull"  has  kept  him 
snug  and  safe  at  Washington  and  has 
promoted  him  steadily  until  now  he's 
a  Colonel  at  thirty-five.  But  he  was 
brought  up  in  a  formal,  old-fashioned 
way,  and  he'd  think  it  a  deadly  insult 
to  a  woman  he  respected  enough  to  ask 
her  to  be  his  wife  if  he  should  touch 
her  without  her  permission.  I  admire 
Jim's  self-restraint,  but — I  couldn't  bear 
being  married  to  a  man  who  worshiped 
me,  even  if  I  only  liked  him.  If  I 

2 


The  Social  Secretaos 

loved  him,  I'd  be  utterly  miserable.  I've 
been  trying  hard  to  love  Jim  for  the 
past  four  months,  or  ever  since  I've 
really  realized  how  desperate  my  affairs 
are.  But  I  can't.  And  the  most  exas 
perating  part  of  my  obstinacy  is  that  I 
can't  find  a  good  reason  or  excuse  for  it. 

As  I  was  saying — or,  rather,  writing 
— Jim  stood  behind  me  and  said  in  a 
husky  sort  of  voice:  "You  ain't  goin' 
to  do  it,  are  you,  Gus?" 

I  didn't  answer.  If  I  had  said  any 
thing,  it  would  have  been  a  feeble, 
miserable  "No" — which  would  have 
meant  that  I  was  accepting  the  alter 
native — him.  All  my  courage  had  gone 
and  I  felt  contemptibly  feminine  and 
dependent. 

I  looked  at  him — I  did  like  the  ex 
pression  of  his  eyes  and  the  strength 
and  manliness  of  him  from  head  to  foot. 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

What  a  fine  sort  of  man  a  "pull"  and 
a  private  income  have  spoiled  in  Jim 
Lafollette!  He  went  on:  "Surely,  I'm 
not  more  repellent  to  you  than — than 
what  that  auto  is  coming  to  take  you 
away  to." 

"Shame  on  you,  Jim  Lafollette?"  I 
said  angrily — most  of  the  anger  so  tha* 
he  wouldn't  understand  and  take  advan 
tage  of  the  tears  in  my  eyes  and  voice. 
"But  how  like  you!  How  brave!" 

He  reddened  at  that — partly  because 
he  felt  guilty  toward  me,  partly  because 
he  is  ashamed  of  the  laziness  that  has 
made  him  shirk  for  thirteen  years.  "I 
don't  care  a  hang  whether  it's  brave  or 
not,  or  what  it  is,"  he  said  sullenly.  "I 
want  you.  And  it  seems  to  me  I've  got 
to  do  something — use  force,  if  necessary 
—  to  keep  you  from— from  that.  You 
ain't  fit  for  it,  Gus — not  in  any  way. 

4 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

Why,  it's  worse  than  being  a  servant. 
And  you — brought  up  as  you've  been — " 

I  laughed — a  pretty  successful  effort. 
"I've  been  educating  for  it  all  my  life, 
without  knowing  it.  And  it's  honest 
and  independent.  If  you  had  the  right 
sort  of  ideas  of  self-respect,  you'd  be 
ashamed  of  me  if  you  thought  I'd  be 
low  enough  to  marry  a  man  I  couldn't 
give  my  heart  to — for  a  living." 

"Don't  talk  rubbish,"  he  retorted. 
"Thousands  of  women  do  it.  Besides, 
if  I  don't  mind,  why  should  you?  God 
knows  you've  made  it  plain  enough  that 
you  don't  love  me.  Gus,  why  can't  you 
marry  me  and  let  me  save  you  from  this 
just  as  a  brother  might  save  a  sister?" 

"Because  I  may  love  somebody  some 
day,  Jim,"  said  I.  I  wanted  to  hurt 
him — for  his  own  sake,  and  also  because 
I  didn't  want  him  to  tempt  me. 

5 


The  Social  Secretaos 

The  auto  was  at  the  curb.  He  didn't 
move  until  I  was  almost  at  the  drawing- 
room  door.  Then  he  rushed  at  me  and 
his  look  frightened  me  a  little.  He 
caught  me  by  the  arm.  "It's  the  last 
chance,  Augusta!"  he  exclaimed. 
"Won't  you?" 

I  drew  away  and  hurried  out.  "Then 
you  don't  intend  to  have  anything  to 
do  with  me  after  I've  crossed  the  line 
and  become  a  toiler?"  I  called  back 
over  my  shoulder.  I  couldn't  resist  the 
temptation  to  be  thoroughly  feminine 
and  leave  the  matter  open  by  putting 
him  in  the  wrong  with  my  "woman's 
last  word."  I  was  so  low  in  my  mind 
that  I  reasoned  that  my  adventure  might 
be  as  appalling  as  I  feared,  in  which 
case  it  would  be  well  to  have  an  alter 
native.  I  wonder  if  the  awful  thoughts 
we  sometimes  have  are  our  real  selves 
6 


The  Social  Secretacs 

or  if  they  just  give  us  the  chance  to 
measure  the  gap  between  what  we  might 
be  as  shown  by  them  and  what  we  are 
as  shown  by  our  acts.  I  hope  the  lat 
ter,  for  surely  I  can't  be  as  poor  a  crea 
ture  as  I  so  often  have  impulses  to  make 
myself. 

Mrs.  Carteret  was  waiting  for  the 
servant  to  open  the  door.  I  hurried  her 
back  toward  the  auto,  being  a  little 
afraid  that  Jim  would  be  desperate 
enough  to  come  out  and  beg  her  to 
help  him — and  I  knew  she  would  do 
it  if  she  were  asked.  In  the  first  place, 
Jessie  always  does  what  she's  asked  to 
do — if  it  helps  her  to  spend  time  and 
breath.  In  the  second  place,  she'd  never 
let  up  on  me  if  she  thought  I  had  so 
good  a  chance  to  marry.  For  she  knows 
that  Washington  is  the  hardest  place  in 
the  world  for  a  woman  to  find  a  hus- 


The  Social  SecretaG£ 

band  unless  she's  got  something  that 
appeals  to  the  ambition  of  men.  Besides, 
she  thinks,  as  do  many  of  my  friends, 
that  I  am  indifferent  to  men  and  dis 
courage  them.  As  if  any  woman  was 
indifferent  to  men!  The  only  point  is 
that  women's  ideas  of  what  constitutes 
a  man  differ,  and  my  six  years  in  this 
cosmopolis  have  made  me  somewhat 
discriminating. 

But  to  return  to  Jessie,  she  was  full 
of  apologies  for  being  late.  "I've  thought 
of  nothing  but  you,  dear,  for  two  days 
and  nights.  And  I  thought  that  for 
once  in  my  life  I'd  be  on  time.  Yet 
here  I  am,  fifteen  minutes  late,  unless 
that  clock's  wrong."  She  was  looking 
at  the  beautiful  little  clock  set  in  the 
dashbpard  of  the  auto. 

"Only  fifteen  minutes!"  I  said.  "And 
you  never  before  were  known  to  be  less 

8 


The  Social  Secretae£ 

than  half  an  hour  late.  You  even  kept 
the  President  waiting  twenty  minutes/' 

"Isn't  it  stupid,  this  fussing  about 
being  on  time?"  she  replied.  "I  don't 
believe  any  but  dull  people  and  those 
who  want  to  get  something  from  one 
are  ever  on  time.  For  those  who  really 
live,  life  is  so  full  that  punctuality  is 
impossible.  But  I  should  have  been  on 
time,  if  I  hadn't  been  down  seeing  the 
Secretary  of  War  about  Willie  Catesby 
— poor  Willie!  He  has  been  so  handi 
capped  by  nature!" 

"Did  you  get  it  for  him?"  I  asked. 

"I  think  so — third  secretary  at  St. 
Petersburg.  The  secretary  said:  'But 
Willie  is  almost  an  imbecile,  Mrs.  Car- 
teret.  If  we  don't  send  him  abroad,  his 
family'll  have  to  put  him  away/  And 
I  said:  ' That's  true,  Mr.  Secretary.  But 
if  we  don't  send  that  sort  of  people  to 

9 


The  Social  Secretaeg 

foreign  courts,  how  are  we  to  repay  the 
insults  they  send  us  in  the  form  of  im 
becile  attaches?'  And  then  I  handed 
him  six  letters  from  senators— every  one 
of  them  a  man  whose  vote  he  needs  for 
his  fight  on  that  nomination.  They  were 
real  letters.  So  presently  he  said,  'Very 
well,  Mrs.  Carteret,  I'll  do  what  I  can 
to  resent  the  Czar's  last  insult  by  export 
ing  Willie  to  him." 

I  waited  a  moment,  then  burst  out  with 
what  I  was  full  of.  "You  think  she'll 
take  me?"  I  said. 

Jessie  reproached  me  with  tragedy  in 
her  always  intensely  serious  gray  eyes. 
"Take  your'  she  exclaimed.  "Take  a 
Talltowers  when  there's  a  chance  to  get 
one?  Why,  as  soon  as  I  explained  who 
you  were,  she  fairly  quivered  with 
eagerness." 

"You  had  to  explain  who  a  Talltow- 
10 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

ers  is?"  I  said  with  mock  amazement. 
It's  delightful  to  poke  fun  at  Jessie;  she 
always  appreciates  a  jest  by  taking  it 
more  seriously  than  an  ordinary  state 
ment  of  fact. 

"But,  dear,  you  mustn't  be  offended. 
You  know  Mrs.  Burke  is  very  common 
and  ignorant.  She  doesn't  know  the 
first  thing  about  the  world.  She  said 
to  me  the  other  day  that  she  had  often 
heard  there  were  such  things  as  class 
distinctions,  but  had  never  believed  it 
until  she  came  to  Washington — she  had 
thought  it  was  like  the  fairy  stories. 
She  never  was  farther  east  than  Chi 
cago  until  this  fall.  She  went  there 
to  the  Fair.  You  must  get  her  to  tell 
you  how  she  and  three  other  women 
who  belong  to  the  same  Chautauqua 
Circle  went  on  together  and  slept  in 
the  same  room  and  walked  from  dawn 
ii 


The  Social  Secretao* 

till  dark  every  day,  catalogue  in  hand, 
for  eleven  days.  It's  too  pathetic.  She 
said,  'My!  but  my  feet  were  sore.  I 
thought  I  was  a  cripple  for  life/  " 

"That  sounds  nice  and  friendly/'  said 
I,  suspicious  that  Jessie's  quaint  sense  of 
humor  had  not  permitted  her  to  appre 
ciate  Mrs.  Burke.  "I'm  so  dreadfully 
afraid  I'll  fall  into  the  clutches  of  peo 
ple  that'll  try  to — to  humiliate  me." 

Tears  sprang  to  Jessie's  eyes.  "Please 
don't,  Gus!"  she  pleaded.  "They'll  be 
only  too  deferential.  And  you  must  keep 
them  so.  I  suspect  that  Mrs.  Burke 
chums  with  her  servants." 

We  were  stopping  before  the  house 
— the  big,  splendid  Ralston  Castle,  as 
they  call  it;  one  of  the  very  finest  of  the 
houses  that  have  been  building  since  rich 
men  began  to  buy  into  the  Senate  and 
Cabinet  and  aspire  for  diplomatic  places, 

12 


The  Social  Secreta^S 

and  so  have  attracted  other  rich  fami 
lies  to  Washington.  What  a  changed 
Washington  it  is,  and  what  a  fight  the 
old  simplicity  is  making  against  the  new 
ostentation!  The  sight  of  the  Ralston 
Castle  in  my  present  circumstances  de 
pressed  me  horribly.  I  went  to  my  sec 
ond  ball  there,  and  it  was  given  for  me 
by  Mrs.  Ralston.  And  only  a  little  more 
than  a  year  ago  I  danced  in  the  qua 
drille  of  honor  with  the  French  Ambas 
sador — and  the  next  week  the  Ralstons 
went  smash  and  hurried  abroad  to  hide, 
all  except  the  old  man  who  is  hanging 
round  Wall  Street,  they  say,  trying  to 
get  on  his  feet  with  the  aid  of  his  friends. 
Friends !  How  that  word  must  burn  into 
him  every  time  he  thinks  of  it.  When 
he  got  into  a  tight  place  his  "friends" 
took  advantage  of  their  knowledge  of 
his  affairs  to  grab  his  best  securities,  they 

13 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

say.  No  doubt  he  was  disagreeable  in 
a  way,  but  still  those  who  turned  on  him 
the  most  savagely  had  been  intimate  with 
him  and  had  accepted  his  hospitality. 

"You'll  be  mistress  here,"  Jessie  was 
saying.  She  had  put  on  her  prophetic 
look  and  pose — she  really  believes  she 
has  second  sight  at  certain  times.  "And 
you'll  marry  the  son,  if  you  manage  it 
right.  I  counted  him  in  when  I  was 
going  over  the  advantages  and  disadvan 
tages  of  the  place  before  proposing  it  to 
you.  He  looks  like  a  mild,  nice  young 
man — though  I  must  say  I  don't  fancy 
cowlicks  right  in  the  part  of  the  hair. 
I  saw  only  his  picture." 

A  tall  footman  with  an  insolent  face 
opened  the  door  and  ushered  us  into  the 
small  drawing-room  to  the  left:  "Mrs. 
Carteret !  Miss  Tall  to  wers ! "  he  shouted 
— far  louder  than  is  customary  or  cour- 

H 


The  Social 

teous.  I  saw  the  impudent  grin  in  his  eyes 
— no  proper  man-servant  ever  permits 
any  one  to  see  his  eyes.  And  he  almost 
dropped  the  curtain  in  our  faces,  in  such 
haste  was  he  to  get  back  to  his  lounging- 
place  below  stairs. 

His  roar  had  lifted  to  her  feet  an 
elderly  woman  with  her  hair  so  badly 
dyed  that  it  made  her  features  look  hag 
gard  and  harsh  and  even  dissipated.  She 
made  a  nervous  bow.  She  was  of  the 
figure  called  stout  by  the  charitable  and 
sumptuous  by  the  crude.  She  was  richly- 
dressed,  over-dressed,  dressed-up — shiny 
figured  satin  with  a  great  deal  of  beads 
and  lace  that  added  to  her  width  and 
subtracted  from  her  height.  She  stood 
miserable,  jammed  and  crammed  into  a 
tight  corset.  Her  hands — very  nice 
hands,  I  noticed — were  folded  upon  her 
stomach.  As  soon  as  I  got  used  to  that 

15 


The  Social  Secreta^S 

revolting  hair-dye,  I  saw  that  she  had 
in  fact  a  large-featured,  sweet  face  with 
fine  brown  eyes.  Even  with  the  dye  she 
was  the  kind  of  looking  woman  that  it 
sounds  perfectly  natural  to  hear  her  hus 
band  call  "mother." 

Jessie  went  up  to  her  as  she  stood 
wretched  in  her  pitiful  attempt  at  youth 
and  her  grandeur  of  clothes  and  sur 
roundings.  Mrs.  Burke  looked  down 
kindly,  with  a  sudden  quizzical  smile 
that  reminded  me  of  my  suspicions  as 
to  the  Chicago  Fair  story.  Jessie  was 
looking  up  like  a  plump,  pretty,  tame 
robin,  head  on  one  side.  "Dear  Mrs. 
Burke,"  she  said.  "This  is  Miss  Tall- 
towers,  and  I'm  sure  you'll  love  each 
other." 

Mrs.  Burke  looked  at  me — I  thought, 
with  a  determined  attempt  to  be  sus 
picious  and  cautious.  I'm  afraid  Jessie's 
16 


The  Social  SecretaQS 

reputation  for  tireless  effort  to  do  some 
thing  for  everybody  has  finally  "queered" 
her  recommendations.  However,  what 
ever  warning  Mrs.  Burke  had  received 
went  for  nothing.  She  was  no  match 
for  Jessie — Jessie  from  whom  his  Maj 
esty  at  the  White  House  hides  when 
he  knows  she's  coming  for  an  impossi 
ble  favor — she  was  no  match  for  Jessie 
and  she  knew  it.  She  wiped  the  sweat 
from  her  face  and  stammered:  "I  hope 
we'll  suit  each  other,  Miss — "  In  her 
embarrassment  she  had  forgotten  my 
name. 

"Talltowers,"  whispered  Jessie  with  a 
side-splitting  look  of  tragic  apology  to 
me.  Just  then  the  clock  in  the  corner 
struck  out  the  half-hour  from  its  cathedral 
bell — the  sound  echoed  and  reechoed 
through  me,  for  it  marked  the  beginning 
of  my  "career."  Jessie  went  on  more 


The  Social  Secretaes 

loudly:  "And  now  that  our  business  is 
settled,  can't  we  have  some  lunch,  Mrs. 
Burke?  I'm  starved." 

Mrs.  Burke  brightened.  "The  Sena 
tor  won't  be  here  to-day,"  she  drawled,  in 
a  tone  which  always  suggests  to  me  that, 
after  all,  life  is  a  smooth,  leisurely  mat 
ter  with  plenty  of  time  for  everything 
except  work.  "As  he  was  leaving  for 
the  Capitol  this  morning,  he  says  to  me, 
says  he:  'You  women  had  better  fight 
it  out  alone.' ' 

"The  dear  Senator!"  said  Jessie. 
"He's  so  clever?" 

"Yes,  he  is  mighty  clever  with  those 
he  likes,"  replied  Mrs.  Burke — Jessie 
looking  at  me  to  make  sure  I  would 
note  Mrs.  Burke's  "provincial"  way  of 
using  the  word  clever. 

Jessie  saved  the  luncheon — or,  at  least, 
thought  she  was  saving  it.  Mrs.  Burke 
18  ' 


The  Social  Secret aos 

and  I  had  only  to  listen  and  eat.  I  caught 
her  looking  at  me  several  times,  and 
then  I  saw  shrewdness  in  her  eyes — 
good-natured,  but  none  the  less  pene 
trating  for  that.  And  I  knew  I  should 
like  her,  and  should  get  on  with  her. 
At  last  our  eyes  met  and  we  both  smiled. 
After  that  she  somehow  seemed  less 
crowded  and  foreign  in  her  tight,  fine 
clothes.  I  saw  she  was  impatient  for 
Jessie  to  go  the  moment  luncheon  was 
over,  but  it  was  nearly  three  o'clock 
before  we  were  left  alone  together. 
There  fell  an  embarrassed  silence — for 
both  of  us  were  painfully  conscious  that 
nothing  had  really  been  settled. 

"When  do  you  wish  me  to  come— 
if  you  do  wish  it  at  all?*'  I  asked,  by 
way  of  making  a  beginning. 

"When  do  you  think  you  could 
come?"  she  inquired  nervously. 

'9 


The  Social  SecretaQS 

"Then  you  do  wish  to  give  me  a 
trial?  I  hope  you  won't  feel  that  Mrs. 
Carteret's  precipitate  way  binds  you." 

She  gave  me  a  shrewd,  good-natured 
look.  "I  want  you  to  come,"  she  said. 
"I  wanted  it  from  what  I'd  heard  of 
you— I  and  Mr.  Burke.  I  want  it  more 
than  ever,  now  that  F ve  seen  you.  When 
can  you  come?" 

"To-morrow — to-morrow  morn- 
ing?" 

"Come  as  early  as  you  like.  The  sal 
ary  is — is  satisfactory?" 

"Mrs.  Carteret  said — but  I'm  sure — 
you  can  judge  better — whatever — "  I 
stuttered,  red  as  fire. 

Mrs.  Burke  laughed.  "I  can  see  you 
ain't  a  great  hand  at  business.  The  sal 
ary  is  two  thousand  a  year,  with  a  three 
months'  vacation  in  the  time  we're  not 
at  Washington.  Always  have  a  plain  un- 

20 


The  Social  Secretaos 

derstanding  in  money  matters — it  saves 
a  lot  of  mean  feelings  and  quarrels." 

"Very  well — whatever  you  think.  I 
don't  believe  I'm  worth  much  of  any 
thing  until  I've  had  a  chance  to  show 
what  I  can  do." 

"Well,  Tom— Mr.  Burke— said  two 
thousand  would  be  about  right  at  the  set- 
off,"  she  drawled  in  her  calming  tone. 
"So  we'll  consider  that  settled." 

"Yes,"  I  gasped,  with  a  big  sigh  of 
relief.  "I  suppose  you  wish  me  to  take 
charge  of  your  social  matters — relieve 
you  of  the  burdensome  part  of  enter 
taining?" 

"I  just  wish  you  could,"  she  said,  with 
a  great  deal  of  humor  in  her  slow  voice. 
"But  I've  got  to  keep  that— it's  the  try 
ing  to  make  people  have  a  good  time 
and  not  look  and  act  as  if  they  were 
wondering  why  they'd  come." 

21 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

"That'll  soon  wear  off/'  said  I.  "Most 
of  the  stiffness  is  strangeness  on  both 
sides,  don't  you  think?" 

"I  don't  know.  As  nearly  as  I  can 
make  out,  they  never  had  a  real,  natural 
good  time  in  their  lives.  They  wear  the 
Sunday,  go-to-meeting  clothes  and  man 
ners  the  whole  seven  days.  I'll  never 
get  used  to  it.  I  can't  talk  that  kind  of 
talk.  And  if  I  was  just  plain  and  natural, 
they'd  think  I  was  stark  crazy." 

"Did  you  ever  try?" 

She  lifted  her  hands  in  mock-horror. 
"Mercy,  no!  Tom — Mr.  Burke — warned 


me.'3 


I  laughed.  "Men  don't  know  much 
about  that  sort  of  thing,"  said  I.  "A 
woman  might  as  well  let  a  man  tell  her 
how  to  dress  as  how  to  act." 

She  colored.  "He  does,"  she  said,  her 
eyes  twinkling.  "He  was  here  two  win- 

22 


The  Social 

ters — this  is  my  first.  I've  a  kind  of  feel 
ing  that  he  really  don't  know,  but  he's 
positive  and — I've  had  nobody  else  to 
talk  about  it  with.  I'm  a  stranger  here 
— not  a  friend  except  people  who — well, 
I  can  guess  pretty  close  to  what  they  say 
behind  my  back."  She  laughed — a  great 
shaking  of  as  much  of  her  as  was  not 
held  rigid  by  that  tight  corset.  "Not 
that  I  care — I  like  a  joke  myself,  and 
I'm  a  good  deal  of  a  joke  among  these 
grand  folks.  Only,  I  do  want  to  help 
Tom,  and  not  be  a  drag."  She  gave  me 
a  sudden,  sharp  look.  "I  don't  know 
why  I  trust  you,  I'm  sure." 

"Because  I'm  your  confidential  ad 
viser,"  said  I,  "and  it's  always  well  to 
keep  nothing  from  a  confidential  ad 
viser."  The  longer  I  looked  and  lis 
tened,  the  larger  possibilities  I  saw  in 
her.  My  enthusiasm  was  rising. 

23 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

She  rose  and  came  to  me  and  kissed 
me.  There  were  tears  in  her  eyes.  "I've 
been  so  lonesome/'  she  said.  "  Even  Tom 
don't  seem  natural  any  more,  away  off 
here  in  the  East.  Sometimes  I  get  so 
homesick  that  I  just  can't  eat  or  any 
thing." 

"We're  going  to  have  a  lot  of  fun," 
said  I  encouragingly — as  if  she  were 
twenty-four  and  I  fifty,  instead  of  it  be 
ing  the  other  way.  "You'll  soon  learn 
the  ropes." 

"I'm  so  glad  you  use  slang,"  she 
drawled,  back  in  her  chair  and  comfort 
ably  settled.  "My,  but  Tom'll  be  scan 
dalized.  He's  made  inquiries  about  you 
and  has  made  up  his  mind  that  whatever 
you  say  is  right.  And  I  almost  believed 
he  knew  the  trails.  I  might  'a'  known! 
He's  a  man,  you  see,  and  always  was 
stiff  with  the  ladies.  You  ought  to  'a' 

24 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

seen  the  letter  he  wrote  proposing  to  me. 
You  see,  I'm  kind  of  fat  and  always  was. 
Mother  used  to  tease  me  because  I  hadn't 
any  beaux  except  Tom,  who  wouldn't 
come  to  the  point.  She  said:  'Lizzie, 
you'll  never  have  a  man  make  real  love 
to  you/  And  she  was  right.  When 
Tom  proposed  he  wrote  very  formal- 
like — not  a  sentimental  word.  And 
when  we  were  married  and  got  better 
acquainted,  I  teased  him  about  it,  and 
tried  to  get  him  to  make  love,  real  book 
kind  of  love.  But  not  a  word!  But  he's 
fond  of  me — we  always  have  got  on 
fine,  and  his  being  no  good  at  love-talk 
is  just  one  of  our  jokes." 

It  was  fine  to  hear  her  drawl  it  out 
—  I  knew  that  she  was  sure  to  make  a 
hit,  if  only  I  could  get  her  under  way, 
could  convince  her  that  it's  nice  to  be 
natural  if  you're  naturally  nice. 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

"Tom"  came  in  from  the  Senate  and 
I  soon  saw  that,  though  she  was  a 
"really"  lady,  of  the  only  kind  that  is 
real — the  kind  that's  born  right,  he  was 
a  made  gentleman,  and  not  a  very  suc 
cessful  job.  He  was  small  and  thin  and 
dressed  with  the  same  absurd  stiff  care 
with  which  he  had  made  her  dress.  He 
had  a  pointed  reddish  beard  and  reddish 
curls,  and  he  used  a  kind  of  scent  that 
smelt  cheap  though  it  probably  wasn't. 
He  was  very  precise  and  distant  with 
me — how  "Lizzie's"  eyes  did  twinkle 
as  she  watched  him.  I  saw  that  she  was 
"on  to"  Tom  with  the  quickness  with 
which  a  shrewd  woman  always  finds 
out,  once  she  gets  the  clue. 

"Have  you  had  Miss  Talltowers 
shown  her  rooms,  Mrs.  Burke?"  he  soon 
inquired. 

"Why,  no,  pa,"  replied  Mrs.  Burke. 
26 


The  Social  Secretaos 

"I  forgot  it  clear."  As  she  said  "pa" 
he  winced  and  her  eyes  danced  with 
fun.  She  went  on  to  me:  "You  don't 
mind  our  calling  each  other  pa  and  ma 
before  you,  do  you,  Miss  Talltowers? 
We're  so  used  to  doing  it  that,  if  you 
minded  it  and  we  had  to  stop,  we'd  feel 
as  if  we  had  company  in  the  house  all 
the  time." 

I  didn't  dare  answer,  I  was  so  full  of 
laughter.  For  "pa"  looked  as  if  he 
were  about  to  sink  through  the  floor. 
She  led  me  up  to  my  rooms — a  beauti 
ful  suite  on  the  third  floor.  "We  took 
the  house  furnished,"  she  explained  as 
we  went,  "and  I  feel  as  if  I  was  living 
in  a  hotel — except  that  the  servants 
ain't  nearly  so  nice.  I  do  hope  you'll 
help  me  with  them.  Tom  wanted  me 
to  take  a  housekeeper,  but  those  that 
applied  were  such  grand  ladies  that  I'd 

27 


The  Social  Secretaos 

rather  V  done  all  my  own  work  than 
'a'  had  any  one  of  them  about.  Perhaps 
we  could  get  one  now,  and  you  could 
kind  of  keep  her  in  check/' 

"I  think  it'd  be  better  to  have  some 
one/'  I  replied.  "I've  had  some  experi 
ence  in  managing  a  house."  I  couldn't 
help  saying  it  unsteadily — not  because 
I  miss  our  house;  no,  I'm  sure  it  wasn't 
that.  But  I  suddenly  saw  the  old  li 
brary  and  my  father  looking  up  from  his 
book  to  smile  lovingly  at  me  as  I  strug 
gled  with  the  household  accounts.  Any 
how,  deep  down  I'm  glad  he  did  know 
so  little  about  business  and  so  much 
about  everything  that's  fine.  I'd  rather 
have  my  memories  of  him  than  any 
money  he  could  have  left  me  by  being 
less  of  a  father  and  friend  and  more  of 
a  "practical"  man. 

Mrs.  Burke  looked  at  me  sympathet- 
28 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

ically — I  could  see  that  she  longed  to 
say  something  about  my  changed  for 
tunes,  but  refrained  through  fear  of  not 
saying  the  right  thing.  I  must  teach 
her  never  to  be  afraid  of  that — a  born 
lady  with  a  good  heart  could  never  be 
really  tactless.  She  went  to  the  front 
door  with  me,  opening  it  for  me  her 
self  to  the  contemptuous  amusement  of 
the  tall  footman.  We  shook  hands  and 
kissed — I  usually  can't  bear  to  have  a 
woman  kiss  me,  but  I'd  have  felt  badly 
if  "ma"  Burke  hadn't  done  it. 

When  I  got  back  to  Rachel's  and 
burst  into  the  drawing-room  with  a 
radiant  face,  I  heard  a  grunt  like  a  groan. 
It  was  from  Jim  in  the  twilight  near 
Rachel  at  the  tea-table.  "I'm  going 
out  to  service  to-morrow,"  said  I  to 
Rachel.  "So  you're  to  be  rid  of  your 
visitor  at  last." 

29 


The  Social  Secret a^ 

"Oh,  Gus!"  exclaimed  Rachel  be 
tween  anger  and  tears.  And  Jim  looked 
black  and  sullen.  But  I  was  happy— 
and  am  to-night.  Happy  for  the  first 
time  in  two  years.  I'm  going  to  do 
something — and  it  is  something  that 
interests  me.  I'm  going  to  launch  a  fine 
stately  ship,  a  full-rigged  four-master  in 
this  big-little  sea  of  Washington  society. 
What  a  sensation  I  can  make  with  it 
among  the  pretty  holiday  boats! 


3° 


D 


II 


ECEMBER  6.  Last  Monday 
morning  young  Mr.  Burke  — 
Cyrus,  the  son  and  heir — ar 
rived,  just  from  Germany.  The  first 
glimpse  I  had  of  him  was  as  he  entered 
the  house  between  his  father  and  his 
mother,  who  had  gone  to  the  station  to 
meet  him.  I  got  myself  out  of  the  way 
and  didn't  come  down  until  "ma"  Burke 
sent  for  me.  I  liked  the  way  she  was 
sitting  there  beaming — but  then,  I  like 
almost  everything  she  does;  she's  such 
a  large,  natural  person.  She  never  stands, 

31 


The  Social  Secret a^ 

except  on  her  way  to  sit  just  as  soon  as 
ever  she  can.  "I  never  was  a  great 
hand  for  using  my  feet/'  she  said  to  me 
on  my  second  day,  "and  I  don't  know 
but  about  as  much  seems  to  V  come  to 
find  me  as  most  people  catch  up  with 
by  running  their  legs  off?'  I  liked  the 
way  her  son  was  hovering  about  her. 
And  I  liked  the  way  "pa"  Burke  hov 
ered  round  them  both,  nervous  and  pull 
ing  at  his  whiskers  and  trying  to  think 
of  things  to  say — if  he  only  wouldn't 
use  brilliantine,  or  whatever  it  is,  on  his 
whiskers ! 

"  Cyrus,  this  is  my  friend,  Miss  Tall- 
towers,"  said  Mrs.  Burke.  I  smiled  and 
he  clapped  his  heels  together  with  a 
click  and  doubled  up  as  if  he  had  a  sud 
den  pain  in  his  middle,  just  like  all  the 
northern  Continental  diplomats.  When 
he  straightened  back  to  the  normal  I 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

took  a  good  look  at  him — and  he  at  me. 
I  don't  know — or,  rather,  didn't  then 
know — what  he  thought.  But  I  thought 
him — well,  "common."  He  has  a  great 
big  body  that's  strong  and  well-pro 
portioned;  but  his  features  are  so  insig 
nificant — a  small  mouth,  a  small  nose, 
small  ears,  eyes,  forehead,  small  head. 
And  there,  in  the  very  worst  place — 
just  where  the  part  ought  to  be — was 
the  cowlick  I'd  noticed  in  his  photo 
graph.  When  he  began  to  speak  I  liked 
him  still  less.  He's  been  at  Berlin  three 
years,  but  still  has  his  Harvard  accent. 
I  wonder  why  they  teach  men  at  Har 
vard  to  use  their  lips  in  making  words 
as  a  Miss  Nancy  sort  of  man  uses  his 
fingers  in  doing  fancy  work? 

Neither  of  us  said  anything  memora 
ble,  and  presently  he  went  away  to  his 
room,  his  mother  going  up  with  him. 

33 


The  Social  Secret SLIQZ, 

His  father  followed  to  the  foot  of  the 
stairs,  then  drifted  away  to  his  study 
where  he  could  lie  in  wait  for  Cyrus 
on  his  way  down.  Pretty  soon  his 
mother  came  into  the  "office"  they've 
given  me — it's  just  off  the  drawing-room 
so  that  I  can  be  summoned  to  it  the 
instant  any  one  comes  to  see  Mrs.  Burke. 
"I've  let  his  pa  have  him  for  a  while," 
she  explained,  as  she  came  in.  I  saw 
that  she  was  full  of  her  boy,  so  I  turned 
away  from  my  books.  She  rambled  on 
about  him  for  an  hour,  not  knowing 
what  she  was  saying,  but  just  pouring 
out  whatever  came  into  her  head.  "  His 
pa  has  always  said  I'd  spoil  him,"  was 
one  of  the  things  I  remember,  "but  I 
don't  think  love  ever  spoiled  anybody." 
Also  she  told  me  that  his  real  name 
wasn't  Cyrus  but  Bucyrus,  the  town  his 
father  originally  came  from — it's  some- 

34 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

where  in  Ohio,  I  think  she  said.  "And/* 
said  she,  "whenever  I  want  to  cut  his 
comb  I  just  give  him  his  name.  He 
tames  right  down."  Also  that  he  has 
used  all  sorts  of  things  on  the  cowlick 
without  success.  "There  it  is,  still," 
said  she,  "as  cross-grained  as  ever.  I 
like  it  about  the  best  of  anything,  ex 
cept  maybe  his  long  legs.  I'm  a  duck- 
leg  myself,  and  his  pa — well,  his  legs 
*just  about  reach  the  ground/  as  Lincoln 
said,  and  after  that  the  less  said  the 
sooner  forgot.  But  Cyrus  has  legs.  And 
his  cowlick  matches  a  cowlick  in  his 
disposition — a  kind  of  gnarly  knot  that 
you  can't  cut  nor  saw  through  nor  get 
round  no  way.  It's  been  the  saving  of 
him,  he's  so  good-natured  and  easy 
otherwise."  And  she  went  on  to  tell 
how  generous  he  is,  "the  only  generous 
small-eared  person  I've  ever  known, 

35 


The  Social  SecretaG£ 

though  I  must  say  I  have  my  doubts 
about  ears  as  a  sign.  There  was  Bill 
Slayback  in  our  town,  with  ears  like  a 
jack-rabbit,  and  whenever  he  had  a  poor 
man  do  a  job  of  work  about  his  place 
he  used  to  pay  him  with  a  ninety-day 
note  and  then  shave  the  note." 

I  was  glad  when  she  hurried  away  at 
the  sound  of  Cyrus  in  the  hall.  For  a 
huge  lot  of  work  there'll  be  for  me  to  do 
until  I  get  things  in  some  sort  of  order. 
I've  opened  a  regular  set  of  books  to 
keep  the  social  accounts  in.  Of  course, 
nobody  who  goes  in  for  society,  on  the 
scale  we're  going  into  it,  could  get  along 
without  social  bookkeeping  as  big  as  a 
bank's.  I  pity  the  official  women  in  the 
high  places  who  can't  afford  secretaries; 
they  must  spend  hours  every  night  post 
ing  and  fussing  with  their  account-books 
when  they  ought  to  be  in  bed  asleep. 


The  Social  Secretag£ 

On  my  second  day  here  "pa"  Burke 
explained  what  his  plans  were.  "We 
wish  to  make  our  house,"  said  he,  "the 
most  distinguished  social  center  in  Wash 
ington,  next  to  the  White  House — and 
very  democratic.  Above  all,  Miss  Tall- 
towers,  democratic." 

"He  don't  mean  that  he  wants  us  to 
do  our  own  work  and  send  out  the  wash," 
drawled  "ma"  Burke,  who  was  sitting 
by.  "But  democratic,  with  fourteen  ser 
vants  in  livery." 

"I  understand,"  said  I.  "You  wish 
simplicity,  and  people  to  feel  at  ease, 
Mr.  Burke." 

"Exactly,"  he  replied  in  a  dubious 
tone.  "But  I  wish  to  maintain  the — 
the  dignities,  as  it  were." 

I  saw  he  was  afraid  I  might  get  the 
idea  he  wanted  something  like  those 
rough-and-tumble  public  maulings  of 

37 


The-Social  Secreta^ 

the  President  that  they  have  at  the  White 
House.  I  hastened  to  reassure  him;  then 
I  explained  my  plan.  I  had  drawn  up  a 
system  somewhat  like  those  the  Presi 
dent's  wife  and  the  Cabinet  women  and 
the  other  big  entertainers  have.  I'm  glad 
the  Burkes  haven't  any  daughters.  If 
they  had  I'd  certainly  need  an  assistant. 
As  it  is,  I'm  afraid  I'll  worry  myself 
hollow-eyed  over  my  books. 

First,  there's  the  Ledger — a  real,  big, 
thick  office  ledger  with  almost  four  hun 
dred  accounts  in  it,  each  one  indexed. 
Of  course,  there  aren't  any  entries  as  yet. 
But  there  soon  will  be — what  we  owe 
various  people  in  the  way  of  entertain 
ment,  what  they've  paid,  and  what  they 
owe  us. 

Second,  there's  my  Day-Book.  It 
contains  each  day's  engagements  so  that 
I  can  find  out  at  a  glance  just  what  we've 

38 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

got  to  do,  and  can  make  out  each  night 
before  going  to  bed  or  early  each  morn 
ing  the  schedule  for  Mrs.  Burke  for  the 
day,  and  for  Senator  Burke  and  the  son, 
I  suppose,  for  the  late  afternoon  and  the 
evening. 

Third,  there's  the  Calling-Book. 
Already  I've  got  down  more  than  a  thou 
sand  names.  The  obscurer  the  women 
are — the  back-district  congressmen's 
wives  and  the  like — the  greater  the 
necessity  for  keeping  the  calling  account 
straight.  I  wonder  how  many  public 
men  have  had  their  careers  injured  or 
ruined  just  because  their  wives  didn't 
keep  the  calling  account  straight.  They 
say  that  men  forgive  slights,  and,  when 
it's  to  their  interest,  forget  them.  But 
I  know  the  women  never  do.  They  keep 
the  knife  sharp  and  wait  for  a  chance 
to  stick  it  in,  for  years  and  years.  Of 

39 


The  Social  SecretaG£ 

course,  if  the  Burkes  weren't  going  into 
this  business  in  a  way  that  makes  me 
think  the  Senator's  looking  for  the  nom 
ination  for  president  I  shouldn't  be  so 
elaborate.  We'd  pick  out  our  set  and 
stick  to  it  and  ignore  the  other  sets.  As 
it  is,  I'm  going  to  do  this  thing  thor 
oughly,  as  it  hasn't  been  done  before. 

Fourth,  there's  our  Ball-and-Big- 
Dinner  Book.  That's  got  a  list  of  all 
the  young  men  and  another  of  all  the 
young  women.  And  I'm  making  notes 
against  the  names  of  those  I  don't  know 
very  well  or  don't  know  at  all— notes 
about  their  personal  appearance,  eligibil 
ity,  capacities  for  dancing,  conversation, 
and  so  forth  and  so  on.  If  you're  going 
to  make  an  entertainment  a  success 
you've  got  to  know  something  more  or 
less  definite  about  the  people  that  are 
coming,  whom  to  ask  to  certain  things 
40 


The  Social  Secret SL& 

and  whom  not  to  ask.  Take  a  man  like 
Phil  Harkness,  or  a  girl  like  Nell  Wit- 
ton,  for  example.  Either  of  them  would 
ruin  a  dinner,  but  Phil  shines  at  a  ball, 
where  silence  and  good  steady  dancing 
are  what  the  girls  want.  As  for  Nell, 
she's  possible  at  a  ball  only  if  you  can  be 
sure  John  Rush  or  somebody  like  him 
is  coming — somebody  to  sit  with  her 
and  help  her  blink  at  the  dancers  and 
be  bored.  Then  there's  the  Sain  Trem- 
enger  ?  )Tt  of  man — a  good  talker,  but 
something  ruinous  when  he  turns  loose 
in  a  ball-room  and  begins  to  batter  the 
women's  toilets  to  bits.  He's  a  dinner 
man,  but  you  can't  ask  him  when  poli 
tics  may  be  discussed — he  gets  so  violent 
that  he  not  only  talks  all  the  time,  but 
makes  a  deafening  clamor  and  uses  swear 
words — and  we  still  have  quiet  people 
who  get  gooseflesh  for  damn. 

41 


The  Social 

Then  there's — let  mesee,what  number 
— oh,  yes — fifth,  there's  my  Acceptance- 
and-Refusal  Book.  It's  most  necessary, 
both  as  a  direct  help  and  as  an  indirect 
check  on  other  books.  Then,  too,  I 
want  it  to  be  impossible  to  send  the 
Burkes  to  places  they've  said  they 
wouldn't  go,  or  for  them  to  be  out 
when  they've  asked  people  to  come  here. 
Those  things  usually  happen  when 
you've  asked  some  of  those  dreadful 
people  that  everybody  always  forgets, 
yet  that  are  sure  to  be  important  at 
some  critical  time. 

Sixth,  there's  my  Book  of  Home 
Entertainments — a  small  book  but  most 
necessary,  as  arranging  entertainments 
in  the  packed  days  of  the  Washington 
season  isn't  easy. 

Seventh,  there's  the  little  book  with 
the  list  of  entertainments  other  people 
42 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

are  going  to  give.  We  have  to  have 
that  so  that  we  can  know  how  to  make 
our  plans.  And  in  it  I'm  going  to  keep 
all  the  information  I  can  get  about  the 
engagements  of  the  people  we  particu 
larly  want  to  ask.  If  I'm  not  sharp-eyed 
about  that  I'll  fail  in  one  of  my  principal 
duties,  which  is  getting  the  right  sort 
of  people  under  this  roof  often  enough 
during  the  season  to  give  us  "distinction." 
Eighth,  there's  my  Distinguished- 
Stranger  Book.  I'm  going  to  make  that 
a  specialty.  I  want  to  try  to  know 
whenever  anybody  who  is  anybody  is 
here  on  a  visit,  so  that  we  can  get  hold 
of  him  if  possible.  The  White  House 
can  get  all  that  sort  of  information  easily 
because  the  distinguished  stranger 
always  gives  the  President  a  chance  to 
get  at  him.  We  shall  have  to  make  an 
effort,  b1.:*  I  think  we'll  succeed. 

43 


The  Social  SecretaG£ 

Ninth — that's  my  book  for  press 
notices.  It's  empty  now,  but  I  think 
"pa"  Burke  will  be  satisfied  long  before 
the  season  is  over. 

Quite  a  library  isn't  it?  How  simple 
it  must  be  to  live  in  a  city  like  New 
York  or  Boston  where  one  bothers  only 
with  the  people  of  one  set  and  has 
practically  no  bookkeeping  beyond  a 
calling  list.  And  here  it's  getting  worse 
and  worse  each  season. 

Let  me  see,  how  many  sets  are  there? 
There's  the  set  that  can  say  must  to  us — 
the  White  House  and  the  Cabinet  and 
the  embassies.  Then  there's  the  set  we 
can  say  must  to—  a  huge,  big  set  and, 
in  a  way,  important,  but  there's  nobody 
really  important  in  it.  Then  there's  the 
still  wider  lower  official  set — such  people 
as  the  under-secretaries  of  departments, 
the  attaches  of  embassies,  small  con- 

44 


The  Social  Secretaes 

gressmen  and  the  like.  Then  there's  the 
old  Washington  aristocracy — my  par 
ticular  crowd.  It  doesn't  amount  to 
"shucks,"  as  Mrs.  Burke  would  say,  but 
everybody  tries  to  be  on  good  terms 
with  it,  Lord  knows  why.  Finally, 
there's  the  set  of  unofficial  people — the 
rich  or  otherwise  distinguished  who  live 
in  Washington  and  must  be  cultivated. 
And  we're  going  to  gather  in  all  of 
them,  so  as  not  to  miss  a  trick. 

The  first  one  of  the  Burkes  to  whom 
I  showed  my  books  and  explained  my 
self  in  full  was  "ma"  Burke.  She  looked 
as  if  she  had  been  taken  with  a  "misery," 
as  she  calls  it.  "Lord!  Lord!"  she 
groaned.  "Whatever  have  I  got  my 
fool  self  into?" 

I  laughed  and  assured  her  that  it  was 
nothing  at  all.  "I'm  only  showing  you 
my  work.  All  you've  got  to  do  is  to 

45 


The'Social 

carry  out  each  day's  work.  I'll  see  to 
it  that  you  won't  even  have  to  bother 
about  what  clothes  to  wear,  unless  you 
want  to.  You'll  be  perfectly  free  to 
enjoy  yourself." 

"Enjoy  myself?"  said  she.  "Why, 
I'll  be  on  the  jump  from  morning  till 
night." 

"From  morning  till  morning  again," 
I  corrected.  "The  men  sleep  in  Wash 
ington.  But  the  women  with  social 
duties  have  no  time  for  sleep — only  for 
naps." 

"I  reckon  it'll  hardly  be  worth  while 
to  undress  for  bed,"  she  said  grimly. 
"I'm  going  to  have  the  bed  taken  out 
of  my  room.  It'd  drive  me  crazy  to 
look  at  it.  Such  a  good  bed,  too.  I 
always  was  a  great  hand  for  a  good  bed. 
I've  often  said  to  pa  that  you  can't  put 
too  much  value  into  a  bed — and  by  bed 


The  Social  SecretaG£ 

I  don't  mean  headboard  and  footboard, 
nor  canopy  nor  any  other  fixings.  What 
do  you  think  of  my  hair?" 

I  was  a  bit  startled  by  her  sudden 
change  of  subject.  I  waited. 

"Don't  mind  me — speak  right  out," 
she  said  with  her  good-natured  twinkle. 
"You  might  think  it  wasn't  my  hair, 
but  it  is.  The  color's  not,  though,  as 
you  may  be  surprised  to  hear."  The 
"surprised"  was  broadly  satirical. 

"I  prefer  natural  hair,"  said  I,  "and 
gray  hair  is  most  becoming.  It  makes  a 
woman  look  younger,  not  older." 

"That's  sensible,"  said  she.  "I  never 
did  care  for  bottled  hair.  I  think  it 
looks  bad  from  the  set-off,  and  gets 
worse.  The  widow  Pfizer  in  our  town 
got  so  that  hers  was  bright  green  after 
she  bottled  it  for  two  years,  trying  to 
catch  old  man  Coakley.  And  after  she 

47 


The  Social 

caught  him  she  bottled  his,  and  it  turned 
out  green,  too,  after  a  while/' 

"Why  run  such  a  risk?"  said  I.  "I'm 
sure  your  own  hair  done  as  your  maid 
can  do  it  would  be  far  more  becoming." 

Mrs.  Burke  was  delighted.  "I  might 
have  known  better,"  she  observed,  "but 
I  found  Mr.  Burke  bottling  his  beard, 
and  he  wanted  me  to;  and  it  seemed  to 
me  that  somehow  bottled  hair  just  fitted 
right  in  with  all  the  rest  of  this  foolish 
ness  here.  How  they  would  rear  round 
at  home  if  they  knew  what  kind  of  a 
place  Washington  is !  Why,  I  hear  that 
up  at  the  White  House,  when  the  Presi 
dent  leaves  the  table  for  a  while  during 
meals,  all  the  ladies — women,  I  mean 
— his  wife  and  all  of  them,  have  to  rise 
and  stand  till  he  comes  back." 

"Yes,"  I  replied.  "He's  started  that 
custom.  I  like  ceremony,  don't  you?" 

48 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

"No,  I  can't  say  that  I  do,"  she 
drawled.  "Out  home  all  the  drones  and 
pokes  and  nobodies  are  just  crazy  about 
getting  out  in  feathers  and  red  plush 
aprons  and  clanking  and  pawing  round, 
trying  to  make  out  they're  somebody. 
And  I've  always  noticed  that  whenever 
anybody  that  is  a  somebody  hankers  after 
that  sort  of  thing  it's  because  he's  got  a 
streak  of  nobody  in  him.  No,  I  don't 
like  it  in  Cal  Walters  out  home,  and  I 
don't  like  it  in  the  President." 

"We've  got  to  do  as  the  other  capi 
tals  do,"  said  I.  "Naturally,  as  we  get 
more  and  more  ambassadors,  and  a  big 
ger  army,  and  the  President  more  power 
ful,  we  become  like  the  European 
courts.  And  the  President  is  simply 
making  a  change  abruptly  that'd  have 
to  come  gradually  anyhow." 

Her  eyes  began  to  twinkle.     "First 

49 


The  Social  Secretao; 

thing  you  know,  the  country'll  turn  loose 
a  herd  of  steers  from  the  prairies  in  this 
town,  and —  But,  long  as  it's  here,  I 
suppose  I've  got  to  abide  by  it.  So  I'll 
do  whatever  you  say.  It'll  be  a  poor  do, 
without  my  trying  to  find  fault." 

And  she's  being  as  good  as  her  word. 
She  makes  me  tell  her  exactly  what  to 
do.  She  is  so  beautifully  simple  and 
ladylike  in  her  frank  confessions  of  her 
ignorance — just  as  the  Queen  of  Eng 
land  would  be  if  she  were  to  land  on 
the  planet  Mars  and  have  to  learn  the 
ways — the  surface  ways,  I  mean.  I've 
no  doubt  that  outside  of  a  few  frills 
which  silly  people  make  a  great  fuss 
about,  a  lady  is  a  lady  from  one  end  of 
the  universe  to  the  other. 

I'm  making  the  rounds  of  my  friends 
with  Mrs.  Burke  in  this  period  of  wait 
ing  for  the  season  to  begin.  And  she 

5° 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

sits  mum  and  keeps  her  eyes  moving. 
She's  rapidly  picking  up  the  right  way 
to  say  things — that  is,  the  self-assurance 
to  say  things  in  her  own  way.  I  took 
her  among  my  friends  first  because  I 
wanted  her  to  realize  that  I  was  abso 
lutely  right  in  urging  her  to  naturalness. 
There  are  so  many  in  the  different  sets 
she'll  be  brought  into  contact  with  who 
are  ludicrously  self-conscious.  Certainly, 
there's  much  truth  in  what  she  says 
about  the  new  order.  We  Americans 
don't  do  the  European  sort  of  thing 
well,  and,  while  the  old  way  wasn't 
pretty  to  look  at  it,  it  was — it  was  our 
own.  However,  I'm  merely  a  social 
secretary,  dealing  with  what  is,  and  not 
bothering  my  head  about  what  ought 
to  be.  And  as  for  the  Burkes,  they're 
here  to  take  advantage  of  what  is,  not 
to  revolutionize  things. 

51 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

Mr.  Burke  himself  was  the  next  mem 
ber  of  the  family  at  whom  I  got  a  chance 
with  my  great  plans.  When  he  had  got 
it  all  out  of  me  he  began  to  pace  up  and 
down  the  floor,  pulling  at  his  whiskers, 
and  evidently  thinking.  Finally  he 
looked  at  me  in  a  kindly,  sharp  way, 
and,  in  a  voice  I  recognized  at  once  as 
the  voice  of  the  Thomas  Burke  who 
had  been  able  to  pile  up  a  fortune  and 
buy  into  the  Senate,  said: 

"I  double  your  salary,  Miss  Tall- 
towers.  And  I  hope  you  understand 
that  expense  isn't  to  be  considered  in 
carrying  out  your  program.  I  want  you 
to  act  just  as  if  this  were  all  for  your 
self.  And  if  we  succeed  I  think  you'll 
find  I'm  not  ungenerous."  And  before 
I  could  try  to  thank  him  he  was  gone. 

The  last  member  was  "Bucyrus." 
As  I  knew  his  parents  wished  to  be  alone 

52 


The^Social 

with  him  at  first  I  kept  out  of  the  way, 
breakfasting  in  my  rooms,  lunching  and 
dining  out  a  great  deal.  What  little  I 
saw  of  him  I  didn't  like.  He  ignored 
me  most  of  the  time — and  I,  for  ona 
woman,  don't  like  to  be  ignored  by  any 
man.  When  he  did  speak  to  me  it  was 
as  they  speak  to  the  governess  in  fami 
lies  where  they  haven't  been  used  to 
very  much  for  very  long.  Perhaps  this 
piqued  me  a  little,  but  it  certainly 
amused  me,  and  I  spoke  to  him  in  an 
humble,  deferential  way  that  seemed 
somehow  to  make  him  uneasy. 

It  was  day  before  yesterday  that  he 
came  into  my  office  about  an  hour  after 
luncheon.  He  tried  to  look  very  digni 
fied  and  superior. 

"Miss  Talltowers,"  he  said,  "I  must 
request  you  to  refrain  from  calling  mo 
sir  whenever  you  address  me." 

53 


The;Social  Secreta^ 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  I  replied 
meekly,  "but  I  have  never  addressed 
you.  I  hope  I  know  my  place  and  my 
duty  better  than  that.  Oh,  no,  sir,  I 
have  always  waited  to  be  spoken  to." 

He  blazed  a  furious  red.  "I  must 
request  you,"  he  said,  with  his  speech 
at  its  most  fancy-work  like,  "not  to 
continue  your  present  manner  toward 
me.  Why,  the  very  servants  are  laugh 
ing  at  me." 

"Oh,  sir,"  I  said  earnestly,  "I'm  sure 
that's  not  my  fault."  And  I  didn't  spoil 
it  by  putting  accent  on  the  "that"  and 
the  "my." 

He  got  as  pale  as  he  had  been  red. 
"Are  you  trying  to  make  it  impossible 
for  us  to  remain  under  the  same  roof?" 
he  demanded.  What  a  spoiled  stupid! 

"I'm  sure,  sir,"  said  I,  and  I  think 
my  eyes  must  have  shown  what  an  un- 

54 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

pleasant  mood  his  hinted  threat  had  put 
me  in,  "that  I'm  not  even  succeeding 
in  making  it  impossible  for  us  to  remain 
in  my  private  office  at  the  same  time. 
Do  you  understand  me,  or  do  you  wish 
me  to  make  my  meaning — " 

He  had  given  a  sort  of  snort  and  had 
rushed  from  the  room. 

I  suppose  I  ought  to  be  more  chari 
table  toward  him.  A  small  person, 
brought  up  to  regard  himself  as  a  sort 
of  god,  and  able  to  buy  flattery,  and  per 
mitted  to  act  precisely  as  his  humors 
might  suggest — what  is  to  be  expected 
of  such  a  man?  No,  not  a  man  but  boy, 
for  he's  only  twenty-six.  Only  twenty- 
six!  One  would  think  I  was  forty  to 
hear  me  talking  in  that  way  of  twenty- 
six.  But  women  always  seem  older  than 
men  who  are  even  many  years  older 
than  they.  And  how  having  to  earn 

55 


The  Social 

my  own  bread  has  aged  me  inside!  I 
think  Jessie  was  right  when  she  said  in 
that  solemn  way  of  hers,  "And  although, 
dear  Augusta,  they  may  think  you 
haven't  brains  enough,  I  assure  you 
you'll  develop  them."  Poor,  dear  Jessie! 
How  she  would  amuse  herself  if  she 
could  be  as  she  is,  and  also  have  a  sense 
of  humor ! 

At  any  rate,  Mr.  Bucyrus  came  strid 
ing  back  after  half  an  hour,  and,  rather 
surlily  but  with  a  certain  grudging  man 
liness,  said:  "I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss 
Talltowers,  for  what  I  said.  I  am 
ashamed  of  my  having  forgotten  myself 
and  made  that  tyrannical  speech  to  you/' 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  I,  without 
raising  my  eyes.  "You  are  most  gra 
cious." 

"And  I  hope,"  he  went  on,  "that  you 
will  try  to  treat  me  as  an  equal." 

56 


The  Social  SecretaQ5 

"It'll  be  very  hard  to  do  that,  sir," 
said  I.  And  I  lifted  my  eyes  and  let 
him  see  that  I  was  laughing  at  him. 

He  shifted  uneasily,  red  and  white  by 
turns.  "I  think  you  understand  me," 
he  muttered. 

"Perfectly,"  said  I. 

He  waved  his  arm  impatiently. 
"Please  don't!"  he  exclaimed  rather 
imperiously.  "I  could  have  got  my 
mother  to — " 

"I  hope  you  won't  complain  of  me 
to  your  mother,"  I  pleaded. 

He  flushed  and  snorted,  like  a  horse 
that  is  being  teased  by  a  fly  it  can  reach 
with  neither  teeth,  hoofs  nor  tail.  "You 
know  I  didn't  mean  that.  I'm  not  an 
utter  cad — now,  don't  say,  'Aren't  you, 
sir?'  " 

"I  had  no  intention  of  doing  so," 
said  I.  "In  fact  I've  been  trying  to 

57 


The  Social 

make  allowances  for  you — for  your 
mother's  sake.  I  appreciate  that  you've 
been  away  from  civilization  for  a  long 
time.  And  I'm  sure  we  shall  get  on 
comfortably,  once  you've  got  your  bear 
ings  again." 

He  was  silent,  stood  biting  his  lips 
and  looking  out  of  the  window.  Pres 
ently,  when  I  had  resumed  my  work, 
he  said  in  an  endurable  tone  and  man 
ner:  "I  hope  you  will  be  kind  enough 
to  include  me  in  that  admirable  social 
scheme  of  yours.  Are  those  your 
books?" 

I  explained  them  to  him  as  briefly 
as  I  could.  I  had  no  intention  of  mak 
ing  myself  obnoxious,  but  on  the  other 
hand  I  did  not,  and  do  not  purpose  to 
go  out  of  my  way  to  be  courteous  to 
this  silly  of  an  overgrown,  spoiled  baby. 
He  tried  to  be  nice  in  praise  of  my 

58 


The  Social  Secretaos 

system,  but  I  got  rid  of  him  as  soon  as 
I  had  explained  all  that  my  obligations 
as  social  secretary  to  the  family  required. 
He  thanked  me  as  he  was  leaving  and 
said,  in  his  most  gracious  tone,  "I  shall 
see  that  my  father  raises  your  salary." 

I  fairly  gasped  at  the  impudence  of 
this,  but  before  I  could  collect  myself 
properly  to  deal  with  him  he  was  gone. 
Perhaps  it  was  just  as  well.  I  must  be 
careful  not  to  be  "sensitive" — that 
would  make  me  as  ridiculous  as  he  is. 

And  that's  the  man  Jim  Lafollette  is 
fairly  smoking  with  jealousy  of!  He 
was  dining  at  Rachel's  last  night,  and 
Rachel  put  him  next  me.  He  couldn't 
keep  off  the  subject  of  "that  young 
Burke."  Jessie  overheard  him  after  a 
while  and  leaned  round  and  said  to  me, 
"How  do  you  and  young  Mr.  Burke 
get  on?"  in  her  "strictly  private"  man- 

59 


The  Social 

ner — Jessie's  strictly  private  manner  is 
about  as  private  as  the  Monument. 

"Not  badly,"  I  replied,  to  punish  Jim. 
"We're  gradually  getting  acquainted." 

Jim  sneered  under  his  mustache.  "It's 
the  most  shameful  scheme  two  women 
ever  put  up,"  he  said,  as  if  he  were 
joking. 

"Oh,  has  Jessie  told  you?"  I  ex 
claimed,  pretending  to  be  concealing 
my  vexation. 

"It's  the  talk  of  the  town,"  he 
answered,  showing  his  teeth  in  a  grin 
that  was  all  fury  and  no  fun. 

There  may  be  women  idiots  enough 
to  marry  a  man  who  warns  them  in 
advance  that  he's  rabidly  jealous,  but 
I'm  not  one  of  them.  Better  a  crust 
in  quietness. 


60 


Ill 

DECEMBER  27.    Three  weeks 
simply  boiling  with   business 
since  I  wrote  here — and  it  seems 
not  more  than  so  many  days.    And  all 
by  way  of  preparation,  for  the  actual 
season  is  still  five  days  away. 

I  can  hardly  realize  that  Mrs.  Burke 
is  the  same  person  I  looked  at  so  dubi 
ously  two  days  less  than  a  month  ago. 
Truly,  the  right  sort  of  us  Americans 
are  wonderful  people.  To  begin  with 
her  appearance:  her  hair  isn't  "bottled," 
as  she  called  it,  any  more.  It's  beauti- 
61 


The  Social  Secretaos 

ful  iron-gray,  and  softens  her  features 
and  permits  all  the  placid  kindliness  and 
humor  of  her  face  to  show.  Then  there's 
her  dress — gracious,  how  tight-looking 
she  was!  A  thin  woman  can,  and  should, 
wear  close  things.  But  no  woman  who 
wishes  to  look  like  a  lady  must  ever 
wear  anything  tight.  To  be  tight  in  one's 
clothes  is  to  be  tight  in  one's  talk,  man 
ner,  thought — and  that  means — well, 
common.  What  an  expressive  word 
"common"  is,  yet  I'm  sure  I  couldn't 
define  it. 

For  a  fat  woman  to  be  tight  is — 
revolting!  My  idea  of  misery  is  a  fat 
woman  in  a  tight  waist  and  tight  shoes. 
Yet  fat  women  have  a  mania  for  wear 
ing  tight  things,  just  as  gaunt  women 
yearn  for  stripes  and  short  women  for 
flounces.  My  first  move  in  getting  Mrs. 
Burke  into  shape — after  doing  away 
62 


The  Social  SecretaG5 

with  that  dreadful  "bottled"  hair — was 
to  put  her  into  comfortable  clothes. 
The  first  time  I  got  her  into  an  evening 
dress  of  the  right  sort  I  was  rewarded 
for  all  my  trouble  by  her  expression. 
She  kissed  me  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 
"My  dear,"  said  she,  "never  before  did 
I  have  a  best  dress  that  I  wasn't  afraid 
to  breathe  in  for  fear  I'd  bust  out,  back 
or  front."  Then  I  made  her  sit  down 
before  her  long  glass  and  look  at  her 
self  carefully.  She  had  the  prettiest  kind 
of  color  in  her  cheeks  as  she  smiled  at 
me  and  said:  "If  I'd  'a'  looked  like  this 
when  I  was  young  I  reckon  Mr.  Burke 
wouldn't  'a'  been  so  easy  in  his  mind 
when  he  went  away  from  home,  nor 
'a'  stayed  so  long.  I  always  did  sympa 
thize  with  pretty  women  when  they 
capered  round,  but  now  I  wonder  they 
ever  do  sober  down.  If  I  weighed  a  hun- 


The  Social  SecretaQS 

dred  pounds  or  so  less  I  do  believe  I'd 
try  to  frisk  yet." 

And  I  do  believe  she  could;  for  she's 
really  a  handsome  woman.  Why  is  it 
that  the  women  who  have  the  most  to 
them  don't  give  it  a  chance  to  show 
through,  but  get  themselves  up  so  that 
anybody  who  glances  at  them  tries 
never  to  look  again? 

It  is  the  change  in  her  appearance 
even  more  than  all  she's  learned  that 
has  given  her  self-confidence.  She  feels 
at  ease — and  that  puts  her  at  ease,  and 
puts  everybody  else  at  ease,  too.  It  has 
reacted  upon  Mr.  Burke.  He  has 
dropped  brilliantine — perhaps  "ma" 
gave  him  a  quiet  hint— and  he  has  taken 
some  lessons  in  dress  from  "Cyrus,"  who 
really  gets  himself  up  very  well,  con 
sidering  that  he  has  lived  in  Germany 
for  three  years.  I  should  have  hopes 


The  Social  SecretaQS 

that  "pa"  would  blossom  out  into  some 
thing  very  attractive  socially  if  he 
hadn't  a  deep-seated  notion  that  he  is 
a  great  joker.  A  naturally  serious  man 
who  tries  to  be  funny  is  about  the  most 
painful  object  in  civilization.  Still, 
Washington  is  full  of  statesmen  and 
scholars  who  try  to  unbend  and  be 
"light,"  especially  with  "the  ladies." 
Nothing  makes  me — or  any  other 
woman,  I  suppose — so  angry  as  for  a 
man  to  show  that  he  takes  me  for  a  fool 
by  making  a  grinning  galoot  of  himself 
whenever  he  talks  to  me.  Bucyrus  is 
much  that  kind  of  ass.  He  alternates 
between  solemnity  and  silliness. 

I  said  rather  pointedly  to  him  the 
other  night:  "You  men  with  your  great, 
deep  minds  make  a  mistake  in  chang 
ing  your  manner  when  you  talk  with 
the  women  and  the  children.  Nothing 

65 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

pleases  us  so  much  as  to  be  taken  seri 
ously."  But  it  didn't  touch  him.  How 
ever,  he's  hardly  to  blame.  He's  spent 
a  great  many  years  round  institutions  of 
learning,  and  in  those  places,  I've  no 
ticed,  every  one  has  a  musty,  fusty  sense 
of  humor.  Probably  it  comes  from 
cackling  at  classical  jokes  that  have 
laughed  themselves  as  dry  as  a  mummy. 
We've  been  giving  a  few  entertain 
ments — informal  and  not  large,  but 
highly  important.  I  had  two  objects  in 
mind:  In  the  first  place,  to  get  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Burke  accustomed  to  the  style  of 
hospitality  they've  got  to  give  if  they're 
going  to  win  out.  In  the  second  place, 
to  get  certain  of  the  kind  of  people  who 
are  necessary  to  us  in  the  habit  of  com 
ing  to  this  house — and  those  people  are 
not  so  very  hard  to  get  hold  of  now; 
later  they'll  be  engaged  day  and  night. 
66 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

For  two  weeks  now  I've  had  my  two 
especial  features  going.  One  of  them 
is  for  the  men,  the  other  for  the  women. 
And  I  can  see  already  that  they  alone 
would  carry  us  through  triumphantly; 
for  they've  caught  on. 

My  men's  feature  is  a  breakfast.  I 
engaged  a  particularly  good  cook — the 
best  old-fashioned  Southern  cook  in 
Washington.  Rachel  had  her,  and  I 
persuaded  Mr.  Derby  to  consent  to  giv 
ing  her  up  to  us,  just  for  this  season. 
Cleopatra — that's  her  name — has  noth 
ing  to  do  but  get  together  every  morn 
ing  by  nine  o'clock  the  grandest  kind 
of  an  old-fashioned  American  breakfast. 
And  I  explained  to  Senator  Burke  that 
he  was  to  invite  some  of  his  colleagues, 
as  many  as  he  liked,  and  tell  them  to 
come  any  morning,  or  every  morning 
if  they  wished,  and  bring  their  friends. 


The  Social  Secreta:©^ 

I  consult  with  Cleopatra  every  day 
as  to  what  she's  to  have  the  next  morn 
ing;  and  I  think  dear  old  father  taught 
me  what  kind  of  breakfast  men  like.  I 
don't  give  them  too  much,  or  they'd 
be  afraid  to  come  and  risk  indigestion 
a  second  time.  I  see  to  it  that  every 
thing  is  perfectly  cooked — and  it's  pretty 
hard  for  any  man  to  get  indigestion, 
even  from  corned  beef  hash  and  hot 
cornbread  and  buckwheat  cakes  with 
maple  syrup,  if  it's  perfectly  cooked  and 
is  eaten  in  a  cheerful  frame  of  mind. 
No  women  are  permitted  at  these  break 
fasts — just  men,  with  everything  free 
and  easy,  plenty  to  smoke,  separate  tables, 
but  each  large  enough  so  that  there's 
always  room  at  any  one  of  them  for  one 
more  who  might  otherwise  be  uncom 
fortable.  Even  now  we  have  from 
fifteen  to  twenty  men — among  them 

68 


The  Social  Secretaos 

the  very  best  in  Washington.  In  the 
season  we'll  have  thirty  and  forty,  and 
our  house  will  be  a  regular  club  from 
nine  to  eleven  for  just  the  right  men. 

My  other  big  feature  is  an  informal 
dance  every  Wednesday  night.  It's 
already  as  great  a  success  in  its  way  as 
the  breakfasts  are  in  theirs.  I've  been 
rather  careful  about  whom  I  let  Mrs. 
Burke  invite  to  come  in  on  Wednesdays 
whenever  they  like.  The  result  is  that 
everybody  is  pleased;  the  affairs  seem  to 
be  "exclusive,"  yet  are  not.  I  know  it 
will  do  the  Burkes  a  world  of  good 
politically,  because  a  certain  kind  of 
people  who  are  important  politically 
but  have  had  no  chance  socially  are 
coming  to  us  on  Wednesdays,  and  that's 
just  the  kind  of  people  who  are  frantic 
ally  flattered  by  the  idea  that  they  are 
"in  the  push." 

69 


The  Social  Secretaos 

Speaking  of  being  "in  the  push," 
there  are  two  ways  of  getting  there  if 
one  isn't  there.  One  is  to  worm  your 
way  in;  the  other  is  to  make  yourself 
the  head  and  front  of  "the  push." 
That's  the  way  for  those  who  have 
money  and  know  how.  And  that's  the 
way  the  Burkes  are  getting  in — getting 
in  at  the  front  instead  of  at  the  rear. 

It's  most  gratifying  to  see  how  Mr. 
Burke  treats  me.  He  always  has  been 
deferential,  but  he  now  shows  that  he 
thinks  I  have  real  brains.  And  since  his 
breakfasts  have  become  the  talk  of  the 
town  and  are  "patronized"  by  the  men 
he's  so  eager  to  get  hold  of,  he  is  even 
consulting  me  about  his  business.  I  am 
criticizing  for  him  now  a  speech  he's 
going  to  make  on  the  canal  question 
next  month — a  dreadfully  dull  speech, 
and  I  don't  feel  competent  to  tell  him 


The  Social  Secretae£ 

what  to  do  with  it.  I  think  I'll  advise 
him  not  to  make  it,  tell  him  his  forte 
is  diplomacy — winning  men  round  by 
personal  dealing  with  them — which  is 
the  truth. 

Young  Mr.  Burke — after  a  period  of 
unbending — is  now  shyer  than  ever.  I 
wondered  why,  until  it  happened  to  oc 
cur  to  me  one  day  as  I  was  talking  with 
Jessie.  I  suddenly  said  to  her:  "Jessie, 
did  you  ever  tell  Nadeshda  that  you  had 
planned  to  marry  me  to  Cyrus  Burke?" 

She  hopped  about  in  her  chair  a  bit, 
as  uneasy  as  a  bird  on  a  swaying  perch. 
Then  she  confessed  that  she  "might  have 
suggested  before  Nadeshda  what  a  de 
lightfully  satisfactory  thing  it  would  be." 

I  laughed  to  relieve  her  mind — also 
because  it  amused  me  to  see  through 
Nadeshda. 

Of  course,  one  of  the  women  I  needed 

71 


The  Social  Secretaos 

most  in  this  Burke  campaign  was  Na- 
deshda.  And  I  happened  to  know  that 
she  is  bent  on  marrying  a  rich  Ameri 
can — indeed,  that's  the  only  reason  why 
the  wilds  of  America  are  favored  with 
the  presence  of  the  beautiful,  joy-loving, 
courted  and  adored  Baroness  Nadeshda 
Daragane.  The  yarn  about  her  sister, 
the  ambassadress,  being  an  invalid  and 
shrinking  from  the  heavy  social  respon 
sibilities  of  the  embassy  is  just  so  much 
trash.  So,  as  soon  as  "Cyrus"  came  I 
went  over  to  see  her,  and,  as  diplomat 
ically  as  I  knew  how,  displayed  before 
her  dazzled  eyes  the  substantial  advan 
tages  of  the  sole  heir  of  the  great  West 
ern  multi-millionaire. 

As  I  went  on  to  tell  how  generous 
the  Senator  is,  and  how  certain  he  would 
be  to  lavish  wealth  upon  his  daughter- 
in-law,  I  could  see  her  mind  at  work. 

72 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

A  fascinating,  naughty,  treacherous  lit 
tle  mind  it  is — like  a  small  Swiss  watch 
of  the  rarest  workmanship  and  full  of 
wheels  within  wheels.  And  she's  a 
beautiful  little  creature,  as  warm  as  a 
tropical  sun  to  look  at,  and  about  as 
cold  as  the  Arctic  regions  to  deal  with. 
No,  I  haven't  begun  to  describe  her. 
I'd  not  be  surprised  to  hear  that  she  had 
eloped  with  her  brother-in-law's  coach 
man;  nor  should  I  be  surprised  to  hear 
that  she  had  married  the  most  hideous, 
revolting  man  in  the  world  for  his  money, 
and  was  suspected  of  being  engaged  in 
trying  to  hasten  him  off  to  the  grave. 
She's  of  the  queer  sort  that  would  kiss 
or  kill  with  equal  enthusiasm,  capable 
of  almost  any  virtue  or  vice — on  impulse. 
If  there's  any  part  of  her  beneath  the 
impulsive  part  it's  solid  ice  in  a  frame 
of  steel.  But— is  there?  She's  talked 

73 


The  Social  Secretaos 

about  a  good  deal — not  a  tenth  enough 
to  satisfy  her  craving  for  notoriety,  and, 
I  may  add,  not  a  tenth  part  so  much  as 
she  deserves  to  be,  and  would  be  if  we 
studied  character  on  this  side  of  the 
water  instead  of  being  too  busy  with 
ourselves  to  look  beyond  anybody  else's 
surface. 

Well,  the  Baroness  Nadeshda  has  been 
wild  about  the  Burkes  ever  since  we  had 
our  talk.  And  she  has  Mr.  Cyrus  thor 
oughly  tangled  in  her  nets,  and  the  Sen 
ator,  too.  And,  naturally,  she  lost  no 
time  in  trying  to  "do"  me.  She  has 
told  Bucyrus  what  a  designing  creature 
I  am— no  doubt  has  warned  him  that  if 
I  seem  distant  to  him  I'm  at  my  dead 
liest,  and  to  look  out  for  mines.  He 
certainly  is  looking  out  for  them,  for, 
whenever  I  speak  to  him,  he  acts  as  if 
he  were  stepping  round  on  a  volcano. 

74 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

I'm  having  a  good  deal  of  fun  with 
him.  I  wish  I  had  the  time;  I'd  try  to 
teach  him  a  very  valuable  lesson.  Really, 
it's  a  shame  to  let  a  man  go  through  life 
imagining  that  he's  an  all-conqueror, 
when  in  reality  the  woman  who  marries 
him  will  feel  that  she's  swallowing  about 
as  bitter  a  dose  as  Fate  ever  presented 
to  feminine  lips  in  a  gold  spoon. 

Dear  old  "ma"  Burke  hasn't  yet 
yielded  to  Nadeshda's  blandishments. 
We  went  to  the  embassy  to  call  yester 
day  afternoon  at  tea-time,  and  I  saw  her 
watching  Nadeshda  in  that  smiling, 
simple  way  of  hers  that  conceals  about 
as  keen  a  brain  as  I  shouldn't  care  to 
have  tearing  me  to  pieces  for  inspection. 

The  embassy  at  tea-time  is  always 
wild.  For  then  Sophie  comes  in  with 
her  monkey  and  Nadeshda's  seven  dogs 
are  racing  about.  And  the  Count  always 

75 


The  Social  SecretaQj 

laughs  loudly,  usually  at  nothing  at  all. 
And  each  time  he  laughs  the  dogs  bark 
until  the  monkey  in  a  great  fright  dashes 
up  the  curtains  or  flings  himself  at  Sophie 
and  almost  strangles  her  with  his  paws 
or  arms,  or  whatever  they  are,  round 
her  neck.  I  don't  think  I've  ever  been 
there  that  something  hasn't  been  spilt 
for  a  huge  mess;  often  the  whole  tea- 
table  topples  over.  Mrs.  Burke  loves  to 
go,  for  afterward  she  laughs  a  dozen 
times  a  day  until  her  sides  ache. 

As  we  came  away  yesterday  I  said  to 
her:  "What  a  fascinating,  beautiful 
creature  Nadeshda  is!" 

Mrs.  Burke  smiled.  "When  I  was  a 
girl,"  she  said,  "I  had  a  catamount  for 
a  pet — a  cub,  and  they  had  cut  his 
claws.  He  was  beautiful  and  mighty 
fascinating — you  never  did  know  when 
he  was  going  to  fawn  on  you  and  when 


The  Social  SecretaG£ 

he  was  going  to  fasten  his  teeth  in  you. 
The  baroness  puts  me  in  mind  of  my 
old  pet,  and  how  I  didn't  know  which 
was  harder — to  keep  him  or  to  give 
him  up." 

"She  certainly  has  a  strange  nature," 
said  I. 

After  a  pause  Mrs.  Burke  went  on: 
"She's  the  queerest  animal  in  this  me 
nagerie  here,  so  far  as  I've  seen.  And  I 
don't  think  I'm  wrong  in  suspecting 
she's  sitting  up  to  Cyrus." 

"I  don't  wonder  he  finds  her  inter 
esting,"  said  I. 

"Cyrus  is  just  like  his  pa,"  said  she, 
"a  mighty  poor  judge  of  women.  It 
was  lucky  for  his  pa  that  he  married 
and  settled  down  before  he  had  much 
glitter  to  catch  the  eyes  of  the  women. 
Otherwise,  he'd  'a'  made  a  ridiculous 
fool  of  himself.  But  I  like  a  man  the 

77 


The  Social  Secretaes 

women  can  fool  easy.  That  shows  he's 
honest.  These  fellows  who  are  so  sharp 
at  getting  on  to  the  tricks  of  the  women 
ain't,  as  a  rule,  good  for  much  else.  But 
Cyrus  has  got  me  to  look  after  him/' 

"He  might  do  much  worse  than 
marry  Nadeshda,"  said  I. 

"That's  what  his  pa  says,"  she  replied. 
"But  I  ain't  got  round  to  these  new- 
fashioned  notions  of  marriage.  I  want 
to  see  my  Cyrus  married  to  the  sort  of 
woman  his  ma'd  like  and  be  proud  to 
have  for  the  mother  of  her  grand-chil 
dren.  And  I  ain't  altogether  sure  we 
need  the  kind  of  tone  in  our  blood  that 
a  catamount'd  bring.  Though  I  must 
say  a  year  or  so  of  living  with  a  cata 
mount  might  do  Cyrus  a  world  of  good." 

Which  shows  that  even  love  can't 
altogether  blind  "ma"  Burke. 

January  3.    I  had  to  do  a  little  schem- 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

ing  to  get  Mrs.  Burke  an  invitation  to 
assist  at  the  New  Year's  reception.  It's 
always  the  first  event  of  the  season,  and, 
though  it  would  have  been  no  great 
matter  if  I  hadn't  been  able  to  get  her 
in  among  those  who  stand  near  the 
President's  wife  and  the  Cabinet  women, 
still  I  felt  that  I  couldn't  get  my  "pulls" 
into  working  order  any  too  soon.  Ever 
since  the  second  week  in  my  "job"  I've 
realized  that  nothing  could  be  easier  than 
to  put  the  Burkes  well  to  the  front,  but 
my  ambition  to  make  them  first  calls  for 
the  exertion  of  every  energy. 

So,  in  the  third  week  of  December  I 
set  Rachel  at  Mrs.  Senator  Lumley  and 
Mrs.  Admiral  Bixby — two  women  who 
can  get  almost  anything  in  reason  out 
of  the  President's  wife.  Rachel  is  about 
the  most  important  woman  in  the  old 
Washington  aristocracy,  and  the  Lum- 

79 


The  Social  Secretaos 

leys  and  the  Bixbys  are  in  the  nature  of 
fixtures  here,  not  at  all  like  an  evanes 
cent  President  or  Cabinet  person.  So 
Rachel's  request  set  the  two  women  to 
work.  And  although  the  President's 
wife  said  she'd  asked  all  she  intended  to 
ask,  far  too  many,  and  didn't  see  why 
on  earth  she  should  be  beset  for  a  new 
comer  who  had  been  reported  to  her 
as  fat  and  impossible,  still  she  finally 
yielded. 

I  hadn't  hoped  to  get  an  invitation 
for  them  for  the  Cabinet  dinner,  and  I 
was  astounded  when  it  came.  We  had 
arranged  to  give  a  rather  large  informal 
dinner  that  night  and  had  to  call  it  off, 
as  an  invitation  from  the  White  House, 
even  from  the  obscurest  member  of  the 
President's  family  for  any  old  function 
whatever,  is  a  command  that  may  not 
be  disobeyed.  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  the 
80 


The  Social  Secretaos 

invitation  to  the  Cabinet  dinner  came 
unsought.  It  seems  that  the  Burke 
breakfasts  are  making  a  great  stir  polit 
ically;  so  great  a  stir  that  they  have 
made  the  President  a  little  uneasy.  Of 
course,  the  best  way  to  get  rid  of  an 
opponent  is  to  conciliate  him.  Hence 
the  royal  command  to  Senator  and  Mrs. 
Burke  to  appear  at  his  Majesty's  dinner 
to  his  Majesty's  ministers. 

Mrs.  Burke  is  tremendously  proud  of 
her  first  two  communications  from  the 
White  House.  As  for  the  Senator,  he 
looks  at  them  half  a  dozen  times  a  day. 

I  went  down  to  the  New  Year's  re 
ception  to  see  how  "ma"  was  getting 
on.  As  I  had  expected,  she  didn't  stand 
very  long.  She  cast  about  for  a  chair, 
and,  seeing  one,  planted  herself.  Soon 
the  Baroness  joined  her,  and  young 
Prince  Krepousky  joined  Nadeshda,  and 

81 


The  Social  Secretaos 

then  General  Martin,  who  loves  Mrs. 
Burke  for  the  feeds  she  gives.  The 
group  grew,  and  Mrs.  Burke  began  to 
talk  in  her  drawling,  humorous  way, 
and  Nadeshda  laughed,  which  made  the 
others  laugh  —  for  it's  impossible  to 
resist  Nadeshda.  When  I  arrived  Mrs. 
Burke  was  "right  in  it." 

And  after  a  while  the  President  came 
and  said:  "Is  this  your  reception,  madam, 
or  is  it  mine?"  At  which  there  was 
more  laughing,  he  raising  a  great  guffaw 
and  slapping  his  hip  with  his  powerful 
hand.  Then  they  all  went  up  to  have 
something  to  eat,  and  the  President  spent 
most  of  the  time  with  her. 

She  doesn't  need  any  more  coaching0 
Of  course,  she's  flattered  by  her  success. 
But  instead  of  having  her  head  turned, 
as  most  women  do  who  get  the  least  bit 
of  especial  attention  from  the  conspicu- 

82 


The  Social 

ous  men  here,  she  takes  it  all  very  plac 
idly.  "They  don't  care  shucks  for  me," 
she  says,  "and  I  know  it.  We're  all  in 
business  together,  and  I'm  mighty  glad 
it  can  be  carried  on  so  cheerful-like." 
At  the  Cabinet  dinner,  to-morrow  night, 
she'll  have  to  sit  well  down  toward  the 
foot  of  the  table.  But  she  won't  mind 
that.  Indeed,  if  I  hadn't  been  giving 
her  lessons  in  precedence  she  wouldn't 
have  an  idea  that  everything  here  is 
arranged  by  rank. 

Jessie — so  she  tells  me — had  a  half- 
hour's  session  with  "Cyrus"  the  other 
day  and  gave  him  a  very  exalted  idea  of 
my  social  position  and  influence.  No 
doubt,  what  she  said  confirmed  his  sus 
picion  that  I  and  my  friends  are  con 
spiring  against  him;  but  I  observe  a 
distinct  change  in  his  manner  toward 
me.  He's  even  humble.  I  suppose  he 

83 


The  Social  SecretaG£ 

thought  I  was  some  miserable  creature 
whom  his  mother  had  taken  on,  half 
out  of  charity.  I'm  afraid  I  have  a  sort 
of  family  pride  that's  a  little  ridiculous 
— but  I  can't  help  it.  Still,  I  am  Amer 
ican  enough  to  despise  people  who  are 
courteous  or  otherwise,  according  as  they 
look  up  to  or  look  down  on  the  particular 
person's  family  and  position.  I  guess 
young  Mr.  Burke  is  his  father  in  an  ag 
gravated  form.  Yet  Jessie,  and  Rachel, 
too,  pretend  to  like  him.  And  probably 
they  really  do — it's  not  hard  to  like  any 
one  who  is  not  asking  favors  and  is  in 
a  position  to  grant  them,  and  isn't  so 
near  to  one  that  his  quills  stick  into  one. 
The  Countess  of  Wend  came  in  to 
see  me  this  afternoon  and  told  me  all 
about  the  row  over  at  the  legation.  It 
seems  that  the  new  minister  is  a  plebeian, 
and  in  their  country  people  of  his  sort 

84 


The  Social 

aren't  noticed  by  the  upper  classes  un 
less  an  upper-class  man  happens  to  need 
something  to  wipe  his  boots  on  and  one 
of  them  is  convenient  for  use.  Well, 
every  attache*  is  in  a  fury,  and  none  of 
them  will  speak  to  the  minister  except 
in  the  most  formal  way  and  only  when 
it's  absolutely  necessary.  As  for  the 
minister's  wife,  the  other  women — 
but  what's  the  use  of  describing  it;  we 
all  know  how  nasty  women  can  be  about 
matters  of  rank.  The  Count  is  talking 
seriously  of  .resigning.  I'd  be  dread 
fully  sorry,  as  Eugenie  is  a  dear,  more 
like  an  American  than  a  foreigner;  and 
I  believe  she  really  likes  us,  where  most 
of  them  privately  despise  us  as  a  lot  of 
low-born  upstarts.  I  know  they  laugh 
all  day  long  at  the  President's  queer 
manners  and  mannerisms — but  then,  so 
do  we,  for  that  matter.  And  it's  quite 

85 


The  Social  Secret 3i& 

unusual  for  Washington,  where  each 
President  is  bowed  down  to  and  praised 
everywhere  and  flattered  till  he  thinks 
he's  a  sort  of  god — and  forgotten  as 
soon  as  his  term  is  ended.  I  suppose 
there's  nothing  deader  on  this  earth 
than  an  ex-President,  with  no  offices  to 
distribute  and  no  hopes  for  a  further 
political  career. 

January  9.  We  had  a  beautiful  din 
ner  here  last  night — very  brilliant  too, 
as  we  all  were  going  to  a  ball  at  the 
Russian  embassy  afterward.  All  the 
diplomats  and  army  men  were  in  uni 
form — and  one  or  two  of  the  army  men 
were  really  brilliant.  But  none  of  the 
diplomats.  They  say  that  no  nation 
sends  us  its  best  or  even  its  second  best. 
It  seems  that  diplomats  don't  amount 
to  much  in  this  day  of  cables.  Those 
who  have  any  intelligence  naturally  go 
86 


The  Social  Secretaos 

to  courts,  where  the  atmosphere  is  con 
genial  and  where  there  are  chances  for 
decorations.  So  we  get  only  the  stiffs 
and  stuffs — with  a  few  exceptions.  If  it 
weren't  for  their  women — 

But,  to  return  to  our  dinner — Mrs. 
Burke  went  in  with  the  German  am 
bassador,  and  I  saw  that  they  were  get 
ting  on  famously.  He  is  a  very  clever 
man  in  a  small  way,  and  has  almost  an 
American  sense  of  humor.  As  soon  as 
he  saw  that  she  intended  what  she  said 
to  be  laughed  at  he  gave  himself  up  to 
it.  "Your  Mrs.  Burke  is  charming, 
Miss  Talltowers,"  said  he  to  me  after 
dinner.  "She  ranks  with  Bret  Harte 
and  Mark  Twain.  It's  only  in  Amer 
ica  that  you  find  old  women  who  make 
you  forget  to  wish  you  were  with  young 
and  pretty  women." 

Jim  Lafollette  took  me  in— the  first 


The  Social  Secretac£ 

time  I've  had  him  here.  I  must  say  he 
behaved  very  well  and  was  the  hand 
somest  man  in  the  room.  But  he  never 
has  much  to  say  that  is  worth  hearing. 
Though  conversation  at  Washington  in 
society  isn't  on  any  too  high  a  plane, 
as  a  rule — how  could  conversation  in  a 
mixed  society  anywhere  be  very  high? 
— still  it  isn't  the  wishy-washy  chatter 
and  gossip  that  Jim  Lafollette  delights 
in.  Of  course,  army  officers  almost 
always  go  in  for  gossip — that  comes 
from  sitting  round  with  their  women 
at  lonely  posts  where  nothing  occurs. 
And  they,  as  a  rule,  either  gossip  or 
simply  drivel  when  they  talk  to  women, 
because  all  the  women  that  ever  liked 
them  liked  them  for  their  brass  buttons, 
and  all  the  women  they  ever  liked  they 
liked  for  their  pretty  faces  and  empty 
heads.  So,  usually,  to  get  an  army  of- 


The  Social  Secretag£ 

ficer  at  dinner  is  to  sit  with  a  bowl  of 
soft  taffy  held  to  your  lips  and  a  huge 
spoonful  of  it  thrust  into  your  mouth 
every  time  you  stop  talking.  That's 
true  of  many  of  the  statesmen,  too,  es 
pecially  the  heavyweights.  I  suppose 
I'm  wrong,  but  I  can't  help  suspecting 
a  man  without  a  sense  of  humor  of  be 
ing  a  solemn  fraud. 

You'd  think  American  women,  at  the 
capital,  at  least,  would  be  interested  in 
politics.  But  they're  not.  They  say  it's 
the  vulgarity  of  the  intriguing  and  of 
most  of  the  best  intriguers  that  makes 
them  dislike  politics,  even  here.  I  suspect 
there's  another  reason.  We  women  are 
so  petted  by  the  men  that  we  don't  have 
to  know  anything  to  make  ourselves 
agreeable.  If  we're  pretty  and  listen 
well  that's  all  that's  necessary.  So,  why 
get  headaches  learning  things  ? 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

Of  course,  there  are  exceptions.  Take 
Maggie  Shotwell.  Her  husband  is  a 
wag-eared  ass.  Yet  in  eleven  years  she 
has  advanced  him  from  second  secretary 
to  minister  to  a  second-class  power  just 
by  showing  up  here  at  intervals  and 
playing  the  game  intelligently.  And 
there  are  scores  of  army  women  who  do 
as  well  in  a  smaller  way,  and  a  few  of 
the  diplomats'  wives  are  most  adroit, 
intriguing  well  both  here  and  at  their 
homes  in  a  nice,  clean  way,  as  intrigue 
goes. 

But  most  of  the  women  are  like 
"ma"  Burke,  who'd  as  soon  think  of 
entering  for  a  foot-race  as  of  interfering 
in  her  husband's  political  affairs  in  any 
way,  beyond  giving  him  some  sound 
advice  about  the  men  that  can  be  trusted 
and  the  men  that  can't.  I  suppose  if 
there  were  real  careers  in  public  life  in 
90 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

this  country,  not  dependent  upon  elec 
tions,  the  Washington  women  wouldn't 
be  so  lazy  and  indifferent,  but  would 
wake  up  and  intrigue  their  brothers  and 
sons  and  other  male  relatives  into  all 
sorts  of  things.  Then,  too,  a  man  has 
to  vote  with  his  "party"  on  everything 
that's  important,  and  his  "party"  is  a 
small  group  of  old  men  who  are  beyond 
social  blandishments  and  go  to  bed  early 
every  night  and  associate  only  with  men 
in  the  daytime. 

No,  we  women  don't  amount  to  much 
directly  at  Washington.  If  Jim  Lafol- 
lette  had  kept  away  from  the  women 
and  society  he  might  have  amounted 
to  something.  It's  become  a  proverb 
that  whenever  a  young  man  comes  here 
and  goes  in  for  the  social  end  of  it  he 
is  doomed  soon  to  disappear  and  be 
heard  of  no  more.  The  President  is  try- 

91 


The  Social  Secreta££ 

ing  to  make  society  amount  to  some 
thing,  but  he  won't  succeed.  Whatever 
benefit  there  may  be  in  it  will  go,  not 
to  him,  but  to  men  like  Senator  Burke. 
He  doesn't  go  any  more  than  he  can 
help,  except  to  his  own  breakfasts.  But 
he  sends  his  wife,  and  so,  without  wast 
ing  any  of  his  time,  he  makes  himself 
prominent  in  a  very  short  space  of  time 
and  gets  all  the  big  social  indirect  in 
fluence — the  influence  of  the  women  on 
their  husbands. 

Mrs.  Burke's  younger  brother,  Robert 
Gunton,  arrived  last  night.  He  reminds 
me  of  her,  but  he's  slender  and  very  act 
ive — a  shabby  sort  of  person,  clean  but 
careless,  and  he  looks  as  if  he  had  so 
many  other  things  to  think  about  that 
he  hadn't  time  to  think  about  himself. 
He  looks  younger  and  talks  older  than 
his  years.  He's  here  to  get  some  sort 
92 


The  Social  Secretaos 

of  patent  through;  he  won't  permit  his 
brother-in-law  to  assist  him;  he  refuses 
to  go  anywhere — in  society,  I  mean. 
We  rode  up  to  the  Capitol  together  in  a 
street-car  this  morning,  and  I  liked  him. 

"Why  do  you  ride  in  a  street-car ?" 
he  asked. 

"Because  it's  not  considered  good 
form  to  use  carriages  too  much,"  I  re 
plied.  "It  might  rouse  the  envy  of 
those  who  can't  afford  carriages." 

"Then  it  isn't  because  you  don't  want 
to,  but  because  you  don't  dare  to?" 

"Yes,"  said  I.  " But  things  are  chang 
ing  rapidly.  The  rich  people  who  live 
here  but  care  nothing  for  politics  are 
gradually  introducing  class  distinctions." 

"You  mean,  poor  people  who  like  to 
fawn  upon  and  hate  the  rich  are  intro 
ducing  class  distinctions,"  he  corrected. 

He  is  thirty-two  years  old;  he  treats 

93 


The  Social  Secretag£ 

a  woman  as  if  she  were  a  man,  and 
he  treats  a  man  as  if  he  himself  were 
one.  It  isn't  possible  not  to  like  that 
sort  of  human  being. 

Invitations  are  beginning  to  come  in 
floods — invitations  for  the  big,  formal 
things  for  which  people  are  asked  weeks 
in  advance.  And  we  are  getting  a  splen 
did  percentage  of  acceptances  for  our  big 
affairs,  thanks  to  my  taking  the  trouble 
to  find  out  the  freest  dates  in  the  sea 
son.  If  all  goes  well,  before  another 
month,  as  soon  as  it  gets  round  that  we 
are  going  to  give  something  big  in  a 
short  time,  lots  of  pretty  good  people  will 
be  holding  off  from  accepting  other 
things  in  the  hope  that  they're  on  our 
list. 

Certainly,  there's  a  good  deal  in  go 
ing  about  anything  in  a  systematic  way 
— even  a  social  launching. 

94 


IV 

JANUARY  1 2.  We  are  all  sleeping 
so  badly.  Even  the  Senator,,  whom 
nothing  has  ever  before  kept  from 
his  "proper  rest,"  is  complaining  of 
wakefulness.  Suppers  every  night  either 
here  or  elsewhere,  the  house  never  quiet 
until  two  or  three  in  the  morning,  all 
of  us  up  at  eight — Cyrus  often  at  seven 
because  he  rides  a  good  deal,  and  the 
early  morning  is  the  only  time  when 
any  one  in  Washington  in  the  season 
can  find  time  to  ride.  "It's  worse  than 
the  Wilderness  campaign,"  said  Mr. 

95 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

Burke,  who  was  a  lieutenant  in  flie  war. 
"For  now  and  then,  between  battles  and 
skirmishes,  we  did  get  plenty  of  sleep. 
This  is  a  continuous  battle  day  and  night, 
week  in  and  week  out,  with  no  let-up 
for  Sundays."  And  Mrs.  Burke — poor 
"ma!"  How  hollow-eyed  and  sagged- 
cheeked  she  is  getting  with  the  real  sea 
son  less  than  two  weeks  old!  She  says: 
"I  wouldn't  treat  a  dog  as  I  treat  my 
self.  I  no  sooner  get  to  sleep  than  they 
wake  me.  I  think  the  servants  just  de 
light  to  wake  me,  and  I  don't  blame 
them,  for  they're  worse  off  than  we  are, 
though  I  do  try  to  be  as  easy  on  them 
as  possible."  She  doesn't  know  how 
many  long  naps  they  take  while  she's 
dragging  herself  from  place  to  place. 

On  our  way  to  the  White  House  to 
a  musicale  she  fell  asleep.  As  we  rolled 
up  to  the  entrance  I  had  to  wake  her. 


The  Social  SecretaQS 

She  came  to  with  a  sort  of  groan  and 
gave  a  ludicrously  pitiful  glance  at  the 
attendant  who  was  impatiently  waiting. 
"Oh,  Lord!"  she  muttered.  "I  was 
dreaming  I  was  in  bed,  and  it  ain't  so. 
Instead,  I've  got  to  enjoy  myself."  And 
then  she  gave  a  dreary  laugh. 

"Ma"  Burke  dozed  through  the  mu- 
sicale  with  a  pleasant  smile  on  her  large 
face  and  her  head  keeping  time  to  the 
music.  When  we  spoke  to  the  Presi 
dent  and  he  said  he  hoped  she'd  "en 
joyed  herself,"  she  drawled:  "I  did  that, 
Mr.  President!  I  only  wish  it  had  been 
longer — I'm  'way  behind  on  sleep."  He 
laughed  uproariously.  It's  the  fashion 
to  laugh  at  everything  "ma"  says  now, 
because  the  German  ambassador  tells 
every  one  what  a  wit  she  is.  And  who'd 
fail  to  laugh  at  wit  admired  by  an  am 
bassador? 

97 


^ Social  SecretaG£ 

Writing  about  sleep  has  driven  off 
my  fit  of  wakefulness.  I'll  only  add 
that  Lu  Frayne's  in  town,  working  day 
and  night  to  get  her  husband  transferred 
from  San  Francisco  to  the  War  Depart 
ment  here.  I  think  she'll  win  out,  as 
she's  got  two  Senators  who've  been 
frightening  the  President  by  acting 
queerly  lately.  It's  too  funny!  When 
the  new  Administration  came  every  one 
was  scared  because  the  rumor  got  round 
that  he  was  going  to  give  us  a  repeti 
tion  of  the  Cleveland  nightmare.  But 
there  was  nothing  in  it;  the  only  "pulls" 
that  have  failed  to  work  are  those  that 
were  strong  with  the  last  Administra 
tion,  and  there's  a  whole  crop  of  new 
pulls.  Well,  at  least,  the  right  sort  of 
people,  those  who  have  family  and  posi 
tion,  are  getting  their  rights  to  prefer 
ence  as  they  never  did  before.  We've 

98 


The  Social  SecretaG£ 

not  had  many  Presidents  who  knew  the 
right  sort  of  people  even  when  they've 
been  willing  to  please  them,  if  they 
could  pick  them  out. 

What  a  changed  Washington  it  is: 
so  many  formalities;  so  many  rich  peo 
ple;  so  many  rich  men,  and  men  of 
family  and  position  in  office;  so  many 
big,  fine  houses  and  English  and  French 
servants.  "Such  a  stylishness!" 

January  14.  Our  first  big  dance  last 
night— I  mean,  formal  dance  to  show  our 
strength.  Everybody  was  here,  and  the 
dinner  beforehand  and  the  supper  after 
ward  and  all  the  mechanical  arrange 
ments,  so  to  speak,  were  perfect.  The 
ball-room  was  a  sight—  even  "ma' '  Burke, 
tired  to  death,  perked  up.  Almost  all 
the  diplomats,  except  those  nobody 
asks,  were  here.  And  I  don't  think 
more  than  thirty  people  we  hadn't  in- 

99 


The  Social  Secretac£ 

vited  ventured  to  come.  We  were  all 
so  excited  that,  after  the  last  people  had 
gone,  we  sat  round  for  nearly  an  hour. 
"Ma"  Burke  took  me  in  her  arms  and 
kissed  me.  "It  was  your  ball/'  said  she. 
"But  then,  everything  we  get  credit  for 
is  all  yours;  ain't  it,  pa?" 

"Miss  Talltowers  has  certainly  done 
wonderfully,"  said  "pa"  in  his  cautious, 
judicial  way.  Then  he  seemed  ashamed 
of  himself,  as  if  he  had  been  ungenerous, 
and  shook  hands  with  me  and  added: 
"Thank  you,  thank  you,  Miss  Augusta — 
if  you'll  permit  me  the  liberty  of  call 
ing  you  so." 

"I  never  expected  to  see  as  pretty  a 
girl  as  you  bothering  to  have  brains," 
Mrs.  Burke  went  on  to  say.  And  for 
the  first  time  in  weeks  and  weeks  it  oc 
curred  to  me  that  I  did  have  a  personal 
existence  apart  from  my  work — the 
100 


The  Social  Secreta©5 

books  and  bookkeeping,  the  servants  and 
the  housekeeper,  who  is  only  one  more 
to  fuss  with,  the  tradespeople,  and  mu 
sicians,  and  singers,  and  florists,  and — 
it  makes  my  head  whirl  to  try  to  recall 
the  awful  list. 

"She  won't  be  pretty  very  long,"  said 
Cyrus — he's  taking  lessons  of  his  mother 
and  is  dropping  his  fancy-work  speech 
and  his  "made-in-Germany"  manners — 
"if  she  don't  stop  working  day  and 
night." 

"Oh,  I'm  amusing  myself,"  replied 
I;  but  I  was  reminded  how  weary  I 
felt,  and  went  away  to  bed.  I  neglected 
to  close  my  sitting-room  door,  and  as  I 
was  getting  ready  for  bed  in  my  dress 
ing-room  I  couldn't  help  overhearing 
a  scrap  of  talk  between  Cyrus  and  Mr. 
Gunton  as  thev  went  along  the  hall  on 
the  way  to  their  apartments. 
101 


The  Social  Secretaos 

"The  Tevises  were  disgusting — they 
showed  their  envy  so  plainly/'  Cyrus 
said.  The  Tevises  are  trying  hard  to  do 
what  we're  doing  in  a  social  way,  and 
though  they  must  have  even  more 
money  than  the  Burkes,  they're  failing 
at  it. 

"They'll  never  get  anywhere,"  Mr. 
Gunton  replied.  "You  can't  collect 
much  of  a  crowd  of  nice  people  just  to 
watch  you  spend  money.  You've  got 
to  give  them  a  real  show.  There's  where 
Miss  Talltowers  comes  in." 

"She  has  wonderful  taste  and  origi 
nality,"  said  Cyrus.  Cyrus! 

Mr.  Gunton  sat  out  most  of  the  even 
ing  with  Nadeshda.  I  suppose  she  was 
trying  to  make  Cyrus  jealous  and  also 
to  create  trouble  between  him  and  his 
uncle.  I've  not  seen  a  franker  flirtation 
even  in  Washington.  Whenever  I 
102 


The  Social  SecretaG£ 

chanced  to  look  at  them,  Mr.  Gunton 
was  talking  earnestly,  and  she  seemed 
to  be  hanging  to  his  words  like  a  thirsty 
bird  to  a  water-pan.  And  her  queer, 
subtle  face  was — well,  it  was  beautiful, 
and  gave  me  that  sence  of  the  wild  and 
fierce  and  uncanny  which  makes  her 
both  fascinating  and  terrible.  I  think 
Mr.  Gunton  was  infatuated — indeed,  I 
know  it.  For  when  I  spoke  of  her  to 
him  this  morning  his  eyes  seemed  to 
blaze.  He  drew  a  long  breath.  "A 
wonder-woman!"  he  said.  "I  never 
saw  anything  like  her — in  the  flesh." 
Then  he  looked  a  little  sheepish,  and 
added:  "I  mean  it,  but  I  laugh  at  my 
self,  too.  There  are  fools  that  don't 
know  they're  fools;  then,  there  are  fools 
that  do  know  it  and  laugh  at  them 
selves  as  they  plan  fresh  follies— it  takes 
a  pretty  clever  man,  Miss  Talltowers, 
103 


The  Social  Secreta££ 

to  make  a  grand,  supreme,  rip-roaring 
ass  of  himself,  doesn't  it?  At  least,  I 
hope  so."  And  with  that  somewhat 
mysterious  observation  he  left  me  ab 
ruptly. 

When  I  saw  hLn  and  Nadeshda  to 
gether  so  much  at  the  ball  I  looked 
out  for  Cyrus.  He  seemed  bored,  and 
devoted  himself  to  wallflowers,  but  on 
the  whole  was  surprisingly  unconcerned, 
apparently.  I  had  him  in  sight  almost 
the  whole  evening.  Jim  Lafollette, 
who  stuck  to  my  train  like  a  Japanese 
poodle — I  told  him  so,  but  he  didn't 
take  the  hint — said  that  "the  gawk," 
meaning  Cyrus,  was  hanging  round  me. 
"He's  moon-struck,"  said  Jim.  "So 
your  little  put-up  job  with  Jessie  seems 
to  be  doing  nicely,  thank  you."  I  won 
der  why  a  man  assumes  that  the  fact 
that  he  loves  a  woman  gives  him  the 
104 


The  Social  Secretag£ 

right  to  insult  her  and  makes  it  his  duty 
to  do  it.  And  I  wonder  why  we  women 
assent  to  that  sort  of  impudence.  There's 
another  conventionality  that  ought  to  be 
stamped  out. 

I  find  I  was  hasty  in  my  judgment  of 
Cyrus.  He's  a  lot  more  of  a  man  than 
he  led  me  to  suppose  at  first.  I  think 
he  might  be  licked  into  shape.  He  ought 
to  hunt  up  some  widow  or  married 
woman  older  than  himself  and  go  to 
school  for  a  few  seasons.  But  perhaps 
Nadeshda  will  do  as  well. 

January  17.  There  were  thirty-two 
at  Senator  Burke's  "little  informal  break 
fast"  yesterday  morning,  including  four 
of  the  leading  Senators,  two  members 
of  the  Cabinet,  an  ambassador  and  three 
ministers,  several  generals,  half  a  dozen 
distinguished  strangers,  four  or  five  big 
financial  men  from  New  York  who  are 


The  Social  SecretaQS 

here  on  "private  business"  with  Con 
gress,  and  not  a  man  who  doesn't  count 
for  something  except  that  wretched 
little  Framstern,  who  never  misses  any 
thing  free.  And  our  regular  weekly  in 
formal  dance  was  an  equal  success  in  its 
way.  Senator  Ritchie  told  me  it  was 
amazing  how  Burke  had  forged  to  the 
front  in  influence  and  in  popularity. 
"And  now  that  the  newspapers  have  be 
gun  to  take  him  up  he'll  soon  be  stand 
ing  out  before  the  whole  country."  So 
my  little  suggestion  about  the  wives  and 
families  of  correspondents  of  the  big  pa 
pers,  which  the  Burkes  adopted,  is  bear 
ing  fruit.  And  Mrs.  Burke  is  so  genuinely 
friendly  and  hospitable  that  really  I've 
only  to  suggest  her  being  nice  to  some 
body  to  set  her  to  work.  If  she  were 
the  least  bit  of  a  fraud  I'd  not  dare — 
she'd  only  get  into  trouble. 
106 


The  Social  Secret a& 

January  1 8.  I  was  breakfasting  alone 
in  my  sitting-room  this  morning — I 
always  do  an  hour  or  so  of  work  before 
I  touch  anything  to  eat — when  Mr.  Gun- 
ton  sent,  asking  if  he  might  join  me.  I 
was  glad  to  have  him.  His  direct  way 
is  attractive,  and  he  never  talks  without 
saying  at  least  a  few  things  I  haven't 
heard  time  and  again.  He  was  in  riding 
clothes,  and  as  soon  as  I  looked  at  him 
I  saw  he  had  something  on  his  mind. 

"Good  ride?"  I  asked. 

He  made  an  impatient  gesture — when 
ever  he  has  anything  to  say  and  doesn't 
know  how  to  begin,  the  way  to  start 
him  off  is  to  make  some  common 
place  remark.  It  acts  like  a  blow  that 
knocks  in  the  head  of  a  full  barrel.  "I 
was  out  with  the  Baroness  Daragane," 
he  said,  "with  Nadeshda." 

"And  Cyrus?"  said  I. 
107 


The  Social  Secreta^S 

He  looked  at  me  in  astonishment, 
then  laughed  queer ly.  "Oh,  bother!" 
he  exclaimed.  "Cyrus  doesn't  disturb 
himself  about  /ier,  or  she  about  him — 
and  you  know  it.  Miss  Talltowers,  I 
love  her — and  she  loves  me." 

His  tone  was  convincing.  But,  after 
ihe  first  shock,  I  couldn't  believe  any 
thing  so  preposterous.  And  I  felt  sorry 
for  him — an  honest,  straight  man,  in 
experienced  with  women,  a  fine  mix 
ture  of  gentleness  and  roughness,  at  once 
too  much  and  too  little  of  a  gentleman 
for  Nadeshda.  If  I  had  dared  I  should 
have  tried  to  undeceive  him.  But 
I'm  not  so  stupid  as  ever  to  try  to  make 
a  person  in  love  see  the  truth  about  the 
person  he  or  she's  in  love  with.  So  I 
simply  said:  "She  is  a  most  fascinating 


woman.' 


"You  think  I'm  a  fool,"  he  went  on, 

108 


The  Social  SecretaQS 

/ 

as  if  I  hadn't  spoken,  "and  I  am  a — 
a  blankety -blank  fool.  Did  you  see  her 
night  before  last  in  that  dress  of  silver 
spangles  like  the  wonderful  skin  of  some 
amazing  serpent?  Did  you  see  her  eyes 
— her  hair — the  way  her  arms  looked — 
as  if  they  could  wind  themselves  round 
a  man's  neck  and  choke  him  to  death 
while  her  eyes  were  fooling  him  into 
thinking  that  such  a  death  was  greater 
happiness  than  to  live?"  He  rolled  this 
all  out,  then  burst  into  a  queer,  crazy 
laugh.  "You  see,  I'm  a  lunatic!"  he 
said. 

"Yes,  I  see  it,"  I  replied  cheerfully. 
"But  why  do  you  rave  to  me?" 

"Because  I — we — have  got  to  tell 
somebody,  and  you're  the  only  person 
in  Washington  that  I  know  that's  both 
sensible  and  experienced,  wise  enough 
to  understand,  beautiful  enough  to  sym- 
109 


The  Social  Secretaos 

pathize,  and  young  enough  to  encour- 
age." 

That  was  rather  good  for  a  man  who 
had  had  less  than  a  month's  real  experi 
ence  with  women,  wasn't  it?  I  recognized 
Nadeshda's  handiwork,  and  admired. 

"Miss  Tall  towers,"  he  went  on,  "I 
am  going  to  make  a  fool  of  myself,  and 
she's  going  to  help  me." 

"In  what  particular  sort  of  folly  are 
you  about  to  embark?"  said  I. 

"We're  going  to  marry,"  he  replied. 
"We've  got  to  marry.  I'm  afraid  of  her 
and  she's  afraid  of  me,  and  we'll  either 
have  Heaven  or  the  other  place  when 
we  do  marry — perhaps  big  doses  of 
each  alternately.  But  we've  got  to  do  it." 

"You  know  it's  impossible,"  said  I. 
"Under  the  laws  of  her  country  she 
mayn't  marry  without  the  consent  of 
her  parents.  And  they'd  never  consent." 

no 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

"Certainly  they  won't,"  said  he,  "un 
less  you  can  suggest  some  way  of  getting 
the  ambassador  and  his  wife  round.  We 
want  to  give  her  people  a  chance."  This 
with  perfect  coolness.  I  began  to  believe 
that  there  must  be  something  in  it. 

"Does  Nadeshda  know  you  aren't 
rich?"  I  asked. 

"She  knows  I  have  practically  noth 
ing.  In  fact  I  told  her  I  had  less  than 
I  have." 

"And  you're  sure  she  wishes  to  marry 
you?" 

"Ask  her." 

He  was  quiet  a  while,  then  raved 
about  her  for  ten  minutes,  begged  me 
to  do  my  best  thinking,  and  left  me. 
I  felt  dazed.  I  simply  couldn't  believe 
it.  And  the  longer  I  thought,  the  more 
certain  I  was  that  she  was  making  some 
sort  of  grand  play  in  coquetry,  which 
in 


The  Social  Secretacs 

seemed  ridiculous  enough  when  I  con 
sidered  what  small  game  Mr.  Gunton  is 
from  the  standpoint  of  a  woman  like 
Nadeshda. 

In  the  afternoon  I  was  in  a  flower 
store  in  Pennsylvania  Avenue,  and  Na 
deshda  joined  me.  Her  surface  was,  if 
anything,  cooler  and  subtler  and  more 
cynical  than  usual.  "Send  away  your 
cab,"  said  she,  "and  let  me  take  you  in 
my  auto — wherever  you  wish." 

As  I  was  full  of  curiosity,  I  accepted 
instantly.  When  we  were  under  way 
she  gave  me  a  strange  smile — a  slow 
parting  of  the  lips,  a  slow  half-closing 
and  elongation  of  those  Eastern  eyes 
which  she  inherits  from  a  Russian  grand 
mother,  I  believe. 

"Well,  Gus,"  she  said,  "has  that  wild 
man  told  you?" 

"Yes,  and  you  ought  to  be  ashamed 

I  12 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

of  yourself/'  said  I,  a  little  indignantly. 
"It  ain't  fair  to  coax  an  innocent  into 
your  sort  of  game  and  fleece  him  of 
his  little  all." 

She  laughed — beautiful  white  teeth, 
cruel  like  her  red  lips.  "It's  all  true — 
all  he  told  you,"  she  replied.  "All  true, 
on  my  honor." 

Every  season  Washington's  strange 
mixture  of  classes  and  conditions  and 
nations  furnishes  at  least  one  sensation 
of  some  kind  or  other.  But,  used  as  I 
am  to  surprises  until  they  have  ceased 
to  surprise,  this  took  me  quite  aback. 
"Do  you  love  him,  Nadeshda — really?" 

She  quite  closed  her  eyes  and  said  in 
a  strange,  slow  undertone:  "He's  my 
master.  The  blood  in  my  veins  flowed 
straight  from  the  savage  wilderness.  And 
he  comes  from  there,  and  I  don't  dare 
disobey  him.  I'd  do  anything  he  said. 


The  Social 

And  when  we're  married  I'll  never 
glance  at  another  man — if  he  saw  me 
he'd  kill  me.  Ah,  you  don't  understand 
— you're  too — too  civilized.  Now,  I 
think  I  should  love  him  better  if  he'd 
beat  me." 

I  laughed — it  was  too  ridiculous, 
especially  as  she  was  plainly  in  earnest. 
She  laughed,  too,  and  added:  "I  think 
some  day  I'll  try  to  make  him  do  it. 
He's  afraid  of  me,  too.  And  he  may 
well  be,  for  I — well,  he  belongs  to  me, 
you  see,  and  I  will  have  what's  mine!" 

Yes,  she  would — I  believe  her  abso 
lutely.  And  I  must  say  I  like  her  at 
last,  for  all  her  extremely  uncanny  way 
of  loving  and  of  liking  to  be  loved.  I  sup 
pose  she's  only  a  primeval  woman — 
I  believe  the  primeval  woman  fancied 
the  lover  who  lay  in  wait  and  brought 
her  down  with  a  club.  I  begin  to  un- 
114 


The  Social  Secretaos 

derstand  Robert  Gunton,  too — that  is, 
the  side  of  his  nature  she's  roused. 

"Do  you  believe  us?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  I  do/'  said  I,  "and  I  apolo^ 
gize  to  you.  I've  been  thinking  of  you 
all  along  as — fascinating,  of  course,  but 
— mercenary." 

"Ah,  but  so  I  am!"  she  exclaimed. 
"  It  breaks  my  heart  to  marry  this  poor 
man — and  of  such  a  vulgar  family — 
even  among  you  funny  Americans.  But" 
— she  threw  up  her  arms  and  her  shoul 
ders  and  let  them  drop  in  a  gesture  of 
tragicomic  helplessness — "I  must  have 
him;  I  must  be  his  slave." 

I  can't  imagine  how  it's  going  to 
end,  as  her  people  will  never  let  her 
marry  him.  Possibly,  if  "ma"  Burke 
were  to  persuade  the  Senator  to  settle  a 
large  sum  on  her — but  that's  wild,  even 
if  Gunton  would  consent.  I  can  imag- 

"5 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

ine  what  a  roar  he'd  give  if  such  a  thing 
were  proposed.  He'll  insist  on  having 
her  on  his  own  terms.  As  if  his  insist 
ing  would  do  any  good! 

The  last  thing  she  said  to  me  was: 
"Do  you  know  when  we  became  en 
gaged?  Listen!  It  was  the  first  time 
we  met — after  three  hours.  After  one 
hour  he  made  me  insult  the  men  who 
came  up  to  claim  dances.  After  two 
hours  he  made  me  say,  <I  love  you.' 
After  three  hours — it  was  on  the  way 
down  to  my  carriage — he  asked  me  to 
come  into  the  little  reception-room  by 
the  entrance.  And  he  closed  the  door 
and  caught  me  in  his  arms  and  kissed 
me.  'That  makes  you  my  wife/  he 
said  in  a  dreadful  voice — oh,  it  was — 
magntfique! — and  he  said, '  Do  you  under 
stand?'  And" — she  smiled  ravishingly 
and  nodded  her  head — "I  understood." 
116 


The  Social  SecretaQS 

I  shan't  sleep  a  wink  to-night. 

January  20.  I  wish  they  hadn't  told 
me.  If  ever  a  man  loves  me  and  wants 
to  win  me  he  must  be — well,  perhaps 
not  exactly  that,  but  certainly  not  tame. 
I'm  not  K  bit  like  Nadeshda,  but  I  do 
hate  the  tame  sort.  I  know  what's  the 
matter  with  me  now.  Yes,  I  wish  they 
hadn't  tc  Id  me. 

Janua  y  21.  Robert  and  Nadeshda 
have  told  "ma"  Burke.  She  is — de 
lighted!  "I  never  heard  of  the  like,"  she 
said  to  me  all  in  a  quiver.  "I  wish  I'd 
known  there  were  such  things.  I  reckon 
I'd  'a'  made  my  Tom  cut  a  few  capers 
before  he  got  me."  And  then  she  laughed 
until  she  cried.  It  certainly  was  droll 
to  picture  "pa"  capering  in  the  Robert- 
Nadeshda  fashion. 

She  went  to  the  embassy  and  told 
Nadeshda's  sister,  Madame  I'Ambassa- 

"7 


The  Social  Secreta:^ 

drice.  "She  let  on  as  if  she  was  just 
tickled  to  death,"  she  reported  to  me  a 
few  minutes  after  she  returned.  "And 
when  I  told  her  that  we — Tom  and  I 
— would  do  handsomely  by  Nadeshda 
as  soon  as  they  were  married  she  had 
tears  in  her  eyes.  But  I  don't  trust  her 
— nor  any  other  foreigner/' 

"Not  even  Nadeshda?" 

"Ma"  nodded  knowingly.  "I  reckon 
Bob'll  keep  her  on  the  chalk,"  she  re 
plied.  "He's  started  right,  and  in  mar 
riage,  as  in  everything  else,  it's  all  in 
the  start." 

January  22.  Nadeshda  asked  Mrs. 
Burke  to  give  a  big  costume  ball,  but 
I  sat  on  it  hard.  "I  don't  think  you 
want  to  do  that,  Mrs.  Burke,"  said  I, 
when  she  proposed  it  to  me.  "If  this 
were  New  York  it  wouldn't  matter  so 
much,  though  I  don't  think  really  nice 
118 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

people  with  means  do  that  sort  of  thing 
there.  Here  I'm  afraid  it'd  make  you 
very  unpopular." 

"Do  you  think  so?"  said  she.  "Now, 
I'd  'a'  said  it  was  just  the  sort  of  fool 
ishness  these  people'd  like." 

"Those  who  have  money  would,"  I 
replied.  "But  how  about  those  who 
haven't?  Don't  you  think  that  people 
of  large  means  ought  to  make  it  a  rule 
never  to  cause  any  expense  whatever  to 
those  of  their  friends  and  acquaintances 
who  haven't  means?" 

"Don't  say  another  word!"  she  ex 
claimed,  seeing  my  point  instantly. 
"Why,  it'd  be  the  worst  thing  in  the 
world.  Out  home  I've  always  been  care 
ful  about  those  kind  of  things,  but  on 
here  I  don't  know  the  people  and  am 
liable  to  forget  how  they're  circum 
stanced.  They  all  seem  so  prosperous 
119 


The  Social  Secretacg 

on  the  surface.  I  reckon  there's  a  lot 
of  miserable  pinching  and  squinching 
when  the  blinds  are  down." 

Cyrus  happened  to  come  in  just  then, 
and  she  told  him  all  about  it.  He  looked 
at  me  and  grew  red  and  evidently  tried 
to  say  something — probably  something 
that  would  have  shown  how  poorly  he 
thought  of  my  cheating  them  all  out 
of  the  fun.  But  he  restrained  himself 
and  said  nothing. 

Presently  he  went  out  and  must  have 
gone  straight  to  his  father — probably 
to  remonstrate,  though  I  may  wrong 
him — for,  after  a  few  minutes,  the 
Senator  came. 

"My  son  has  just  been  telling  me," 
he  said  to  me,  "and  I  agree  with  you 
entirely.  It  would  be  ruinous  politically. 
As  it  is,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  you  we'd 
never  have  been  able  to  keep  both  the 

120 


The  Social  SecretaQS 

official  and  the  fashionable  sets  in  a  good 
humor  with  us."  I  never  saw  him  so 
"flustered"  before. 

"What  are  you  talking  about,  pa?" 
inquired  Mrs.  Burke. 

"About  the  costume  ball  you  were 
thinking  of  giving." 

Mrs.  Burke  smiled.  "You'd  better 
go  back  to  your  cage,"  said  she.  "That's 
settled  and  done  for  long  ago." 

"Pa"  looked  more  uneasy  than  his 
good-natured  tone  seemed  to  justify — 
but,  no  doubt,  he  knows  when  he  has 
put  his  foot  into  it.  He  "faded"  from 
the  room.  When  she  heard  his  study 
door  close  "ma"  said  to  me  in  a  com 
placent  voice:  "There's  nothing  like 
keeping  a  man  always  to  his  side  of  the 
fence.  When  'pa'  began  to  get  rich  I 
saw  trouble  ahead,  for  he  was  showing 
signs  that  he  was  thinking  himself  right 

121 


The  Social  SecretaQ$ 

smart  better  than  the  common  run,  and 
that  he  was  including  his  wife  in  the 
common  run.  I  took  Mr.  Smartie  Burke 
right  in  hand.  And  so,  with  him  it's 
never  been  'I*  in  this  family,  but  'we.' 
And  keeping  it  that  way  has  made  Tom 
lots  happier  than  he  would  'a'  been 
lording  it  over  me  and  having  no  con 
trol  on  his  foolishness  anywhere." 

What  a  dear,  sensible  woman  she  is! 
He's  got  good  brains,  but  if  he  had  as 
good  brains  as  she  has  he'd  get  what 
he's  after  and  doesn't  stand  a  show  for. 

January  24.  The  whole  town  is  in 
a  tumult  over  Robert  and  Nadeshda. 
People  think  she's  crazy.  When  Cyrus 
said  this  to  me  I  said:  "And  I  think 
they  are — at  least,  delirious." 

"A  divine  delirium,  though,"  he  re 
plied,  much  to  my  astonishment.  For 
he's  never  shown  before  that  he  had  so 
122 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

much  as  a  spot  of  that  sort  of  thing  in 
him.  But  then,  I'm  beginning  to  revise 
my  judgment  of  him  in  some  ways.  He 
is  much  nearer  what  his  mother  said 
he  was  than  what  I  thought  him.  But 
he's  young  and  crude.  I  find  that  he 
likes — and  really  appreciates — the  same 
composers  and  poets  and  novelists  that 
I  do.  I  can  forgive  much  to  any  one 
who  realizes  what  a  poet  Browning  was 
—when  he  did  write  poetry,  not  when 
he  wrote  the  stuff  for  the  Browning 
clubs  to  fuddle  with. 

Nadeshda  is  in  the  depths — except 
when  Robert  is  by  to  hypnotize  her. 
"I  was  so  strong,"  she  said  pathetically 
to  me  to-day,  "or  I  thought  I  was. 
And  now  I'm  all  weakness."  She  went 
on  to  tell  me  how  horribly  they  are 
talking  to  her  at  the  embassy — for  they 
are  determined  she  shan't  marry 
123 


The  Social  SecretaQS 

nobody  with  nothing."  I  always  knew 
her  brother-in-law  was  a  snob  of  the 
cheapest  and  narrowest  kind — the  well 
born,  well-bred  kind.  But  I  had  no  idea 
he  was  a  coward.  He  threatens  to  have 
the  Emperor  make  her  come  home  and 
go  into  a  convent  if  she  doesn't  break 
off  the  engagement  within  a  week. 

We  are  tremendously  popular.  Ev 
erybody  is  cultivating  us,  hoping  to  find 
out  the  real  inside  of  this  incredible  en 
gagement.  And  the  ambassador  has  to 
pretend  publicly  that  he's  personally 
wild  with  delight  and  hopes  Nadeshda's 
parents  will  consent.  He  knows  how 
unpopular  it  would  make  him  and  his 
country  with  America  if  his  opposition 
and  his  reason  for  it  were  to  be  known. 

January  30.  Nadeshda  has  disap 
peared.  They  give  out  at  the  embassy 
that  she  has  left  for  home  to  consult 
124 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

with  her  parents.  Robert  looks  like  a 
man  who  had  gone  stark  mad  and  was 
fighting  to  keep  himself  from  showing  it. 
We  were  all  at  the  ball  at  the  French 
embassy,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Burke  dining 
there.  I  dined  at  the  White  House — a 
literary  affair.  The  conversation  was 
what  you  might  expect  when  a  lot  of 
people  get  together  to  show  one  an 
other  how  brilliant  they  are.  The  Presi 
dent  talked  a  great  deal.  He  has  very 
positive  opinions  on  literature  in  all  its 
branches.  I  was  the  only  person  at  the 
table  who  wasn't  familiar  with  his  books. 
Fortunately,  I  wasn't  cornered.  Cyrus 
came  to  the  ball  from  Mrs.  Dorringer's, 
where  he  took  in  the  Duchess  d'Emarre. 
"She  has  a  beautiful  face  in  repose,"  he 
said  to  me  as  he  paused  for  a  moment, 
"and  it's  not  at  all  pretty  when  she  talks. 
So  she  listened  well." 
125 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

I  was  too  tired  to  dance,  as  were  the 
others.  We  went  home  together,  all 
depressed.  "It's  too  ridiculous,  this  kind 
of  life,"  said  "ma"  Burke,  "and  the  most 
ridiculous  part  of  it  is  that,  now  we're 
hauled  into  it  and  set  a-going,  we'll 
never  get  out  and  be  sensible  again.  It 
just  shows  you  can  get  used  to  anything 
in  this  world — except  doing  as  you 
please.  I  don't  believe  anybody  was  ever 
satisfied  to  do  that.  Did  you  ever  wear  a 
Mother  Hubbard?  There  s  comfort!" 

I  can  think  of  nothing  but  Robert 
and  Nadeshda.  Have  they  some  sort  of 
understanding?  No — I'm  afraid  not. 

I  forgot  to  put  down  that  Robert 
made  the  Senator  go  to  the  Secretary 
of  State  about  Nadeshda's  disappearance. 
The  Secretary  was  sympathetic,  but  he 
refused  to  interfere  in  any  way.  What 
else  could  he  do? 

126 


FEBRUARY  i .  Last  night  Robert 
started  for  Europe.     He  is  going 
to  see  Nadeshda's  father  and 
mother.     I  begin  to  suspect  that  Na- 
deshda  has  really  gone  abroad  and  that 
she  has  let  him  know.    He  is  certainly 
in  a  very  different  frame  of  mind  from 
what  he  was  at  first.    But  he  says  noth 
ing,  hints  nothing.    Rachel,  who  has  a 
huge  sentimental  streak  in  her,  has  given 
Robert  a  letter  to  her  sister  Ellen — she's 
married  to  one  of  the  biggest  nobles  in 
the  empire,   Prince  Gliickstein.     Also, 
127 


The  Social 

she  has  written  Ellen  a  long,  long  letter, 
telling  her  all  about  Robert,  and  what 
a  great  catch  he  is.  And  he  is  a  great 
catch  now,  for  Senator  Burke  has  organ 
ized  a  company  to  take  over  his  patents 
and  pay  him  a  big  sum  for  them — it'll 
sound  fabulously  big  to  such  people  as 
the  Daraganes.  For  even  where  these 
foreigners  are  very  rich  and  have  miles 
on  miles  of  land  and  large  incomes  from 
it,  they're  not  used  to  the  kind  of  for 
tunes  we  have — the  sums  in  cash,  or  in 
property  that's  easily  sold.  And  the 
Daraganes  have  only  rank;  their  estates 
are  quite  insignificant,  Von  Slovatsky 
says. 

"They  might  as  well  consent  first  as 
last,"  said  Mrs.  Burke  to  me  just  after 
Robert  left;  "for  Bob  always  gets  what 
he  wants.  He  never  lets  go.  Cyrus  is 
the  same  way — he  spent  eleven  months 
128 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

in  the  mountains  once,  and  like  to  'a' 
starved  and  froze  and  died  of  fever,  just 
because  he'd  made  up  his  mind  not  to 
come  back  without  a  grizzly.  That's 
why  the  President  took  to  him." 

And  then  she  told  me  that  it  was 
Cyrus  who  thought  out  the  scheme  for 
making  Robert  financially  eligible  and 
put  it  in  such  form  that  Robert  con 
sented.  That  convicted  me  of  injustice 
again,  for  I  had  been  suspecting  him 
of  being  secretly  pleased  at  Robert's  set 
back — he  certainly  hasn't  looked  in  the 
least  sorry  for  him.  But  it  may  be  that 
Robert  has  told  him  more  than  he's  told 
us.  He  certainly  couldn't  have  found  a 
closer-mouthed  person.  As  his  mother 
says,  "The  grave's  a  blabmouth  beside 
him  when  it  comes  to  keeping  secrets. 
And  most  men  are  such  gossips." 

Mrs.  Fortescue  came  in  to  tea  this 
129 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

afternoon.  Mrs.  Burke  was  out  calling, 
and  I  received  her — or,  rather,  she 
caught  me,  for  I  detest  her.  Just  as  she 
was  going  Cyrus  popped  in,  and  she 
nailed  him  before  he  could  pop  out. 
She  thought  it  was  a  good  chance  to 
put  in  a  few  strong  strokes  for  her 
daughter.  "Of  course,  it's  very  pretty 
and  romantic  about  Nadeshda,"  she  said, 
"and  in  this  case  I'm  sure  no  one  with 
a  spark  of  heart  could  object.  Still,  the 
principle  is  bad.  I  don't  think  young 
girls  who  are  properly  brought  up  are 
so  impulsive  and  imprudent.  I  often 
say  to  my  husband  that  I  think  it's  per 
fectly  frightful  the  way  girls — young 
girls — go  about  in  Washington.  They're 
out  before  they  should  be  even  think 
ing  of  leaving  the  nursery,  and  go  round 
practically  unchaperoned.  It's  so  de 
moralizing." 

130 


The  Social  Secretaes 

"But  how  are  they  to  compete  with 
the  young  married  women  if  they 
don't ?"  said  Cyrus,  because  he  was  evi 
dently  expected  to  say  something. 

"I  don't  think  a  man— a  sensible  man 
— looking  for  a  wife  for  his  home  and 
a  mother  for  his  children  would  want 
a  girl  who'd  been  'competing'  in  Wash 
ington  society,"  she  answered.  "I  don't 
at  all  approve  the  way  American  girls 
are  brought  up,  anyway — it's  entirely 
too  free  and  destructive  of  the  innocence 
that  is  a  woman's  chief  charm.  And 
as  for  turning  the  young  girls  loose  in 
Washington!"  Mrs.  Fortescue  threw 
up  her  hands.  "It's  simply  madness. 
Most  of  the  men  are  foreigners,  accus 
tomed  to  meet  only  married  women  in 
society.  They  don't  know  how  to  take  a 
young  girl,  and  they  don't  understand  this 
American  freedom.  The  wonder  to  me 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

is  that  we  don't  have  a  regular  cataclysm 
every  season.  Now,  I  never  permit 
Mildred  to  go  anywhere  without  me  or 
some  other  real  chaperon.  And  I  know 
that  her  mind  is  like  a  fresh  rose-leaf." 

Cyrus  and  I  exchanged  a  covert  glance 
of  amusement.  Mildred  Fortescue  is  a 
very  nice,  sweet  girl,  but — well,  she  does 
fool  her  mother  scandalously. 

"I  should  think  a  man  would  posi 
tively  be  afraid  to  marry  the  ordinary 
Washington  society  girl  who  knows 
everything  that  she  shouldn't  and  noth 
ing  that  she  should/' 

"Perhaps  that's  what  makes  them  so 
irresistible,"  said  Cyrus. 

"  Irresistible  to  flirt  with  and  tojtaner 
about  with,"  said  Mrs.  Fortescue  re 
proachfully.  "But  I'm  sure  you  wouldn't 
marry  one  of  them,  Mr.  Burke." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  he  answered. 
132 


The  Social  SecretaG£ 

"No  doubt  it  does  spoil  a  good  many, 
being  so  free  and  associating  with  ex 
perienced  men  who've  been  brought  up 
in  a  very  different  way.  But "7— he  hesi 
tated  and  blushed  uncomfortably — "it 
seems  to  me  that  those  who  do  come 
through  all  right  are  about  the  best  any 
where.  If  a  girl  has  any  really  bad  qual 
ities  anywhere  in  her  they  come  out 
here.  And  if  a  Washington  girl  does 
marry  a  man — for  himself— and  I  rather 
think  they  make  marriages  of  the  heart 
more  than  most  girls  in  the  same  sort 
of  society  in  other  cities — don't  you, 
Miss  Talltowers?" 

"It  may  be  so,"  I  replied.  "But  prob 
ably  they're  much  like  girls — and  men 
— everywhere.  They  make  marriages 
of  the  heart  if  they  get  the  chance.  And 
if  nobody  happens  along  in  the  marry 
ing  mood  who  is  able  to  appeal  to  their 

133 


The  Social  SecretaG£ 

hearts,  they  select  the  most  eligible 
among  the  agreeable  ones  they  can  get. 
I  think  many  a  girl  has  been  branded 
as  mercenary  when  in  reality  the  rich 
man  she  chose  was  neither  more  nor 
less  agreeable  than  the  poor  man  she 
rejected,  and  she  only  had  choice  among 
men  she  didn't  especially  care  about." 
Mrs.  Fortescue  looked  disgusted. 
Cyrus  showed  that  he  agreed  with  me. 
"What  I  was  going  to  say/'  he  went  on, 
"was,  that  if  a  Washington  girl  does 
choose  a  man,  after  she  has  known  lots 
of  men  and  has  come  to  prefer  him, 
she's  not  likely — at  least,  not  so  likely 
— to  repent  her  bargain.  And,"  he  said, 
getting  quite  warmed  up  by  his  subject, 
"if  a  man  looks  forward  to  his  wife's 
going  about  in  society,  as  he  must  if  he 
lives  in  a  certain  way,  I  think  he's  wise 
to  select  some  one  who  has  learned 

134 


The  Social  SecretaQS 

something  of  the  world — how  to  con 
duct  herself,  how  to  control  herself, 
how  to  fill  the  role  Fate  has  assigned 
her." 

"Oh,  of  course,  a  girl  should  be  well- 
bred,"  said  Mrs.  Fortescue,  as  sourly  as 
her  sort  of  woman  can  speak  to  a  bach 
elor  with  prospects. 

Cyrus  said  no  more,  and  soon  she  was 
off.  He  stood  at  the  window  watching 
her  carriage  drive  away.  He  turned 
abruptly — I  was  at  the  little  desk,  writ 
ing  a  note. 

"You  can't  imagine,"  he  said  with 
quick  energy,  "how  I  loathe  the  aver 
age  girl  brought  up  in  conventional, 
exclusive  society  in  America." 

"Really?"  said  I,  not  stopping  my 
writing — though  I  don't  mind  confess 
ing  that  I  was  more  interested  in  his 
views  than  I  cared  to  let  him  see, 

135 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

"Yes,  really,"  he  replied  ironically. 
Then  he  went  on  in  his  former  tone: 
"Poor  things,  they  can't  help  having 
silly  mothers  with  the  idea  of  aping  the 
European  upper  classes,  and  with  hardly 
a  notion  of  those  upper  classes  beyond 
— well,  such  notions  as  are  got  in  novels 
written  by  snobs  for  snobs.  And  these 
unfortunate  girls  are  afraid  of  a  genuine 
;  emotion — by  Jove,  I  doubt  if  they  even 
have  the  germs  of  genuine  emotion. 
All  that  sort  of  thing  has  been  weeded 
out  of  them.  Little  dry  minds,  little 
'dry  hearts — so  'proper/  so — vulgar!" 

"Not  in  Washington,"  said  I. 

"No,  not  so  many  in  Washington; 
though  more  and  more  all  the  time. 
Miss  Talltowers,  will  you  marry  me?" 

It  was  just  like  that — no  warning, 
not  a  touch  of  sentiment  toward  me. 
I  almost  dropped  my  pen.  But  I  man- 


The  Social 

aged  to  hide  myself  pretty  well.  I  sim 
ply  went  on  with  my  note,  finished  it, 
sealed  and  addressed  it,  and  rang  for  a 
servant.  Then  I  went  and  stood  by  the 
fire.  The  servant  came;  I  gave  him 
the  note  and  went  into  my  office.  I 
had  been  in  there  perhaps  ten  minutes 
when  he  came,  looking  shy  and  sheep 
ish.  He  stumbled  over  a  low  chair  and 
had  a  ridiculous  time  saving  himself 
from  falling.  When  he  finally  had  him 
self  straightened  up  and  shaken  together 
he  stood  with  his  hands  behind  him, 
and  his  face  red,  and  his  eyes  down, 
and  with  his  mouth  fixed  in  that  foolish 
little  way  as  if  he  were  about  to  speak 
with  his  fancy-work  way  of  handling 
his  words. 

"Do  you  wish  something?"  I  asked. 

"Only — only  my  answer,"  said  he 
humbly. 

137 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

Would  you  believe  it,  I  actually  hesi 
tated. 

"I  want  a  woman  that  doesn't  like 
me  for  my  money,  and  that  at  the  same 
time  would  know  how  to  act  and  would 
be — be  sensible.  I've  had  you  in  mind 
ever  since  you  explained  your  system 
for — for" — he  smiled  faintly — "exploit 
ing  mother  and  father.  And  mother 
has  been  talking  in  the  same  way  of 
late.  She  says  we  can't  afford  to  let  you 
get  out  of  the  family.  That's  all,  I  guess 
— all  you'd  have  patience  to  hear." 

"Then  you  were  making  me  a  seri 
ous  business  proposition?"  said  I. 

"Well,  you  might  call  it  that,"  he  ad 
mitted,  as  if  he  weren't  altogether  satis 
fied  with  my  way  of  summing  it  up. 

"I'm  much  obliged,  but  it  doesn't 
attract  me,"  I  said. 

He  gave  a  kind  of  hopeless  gesture. 

138 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

"I've  put  it  all  wrong/'  said  he.  "I 
always  say  things  wrong.  But— I — I 
believe  I  do  things  better."  And  he  gave 
me  a  look  that  I  liked.  It  was  such  a 
quaint  mingling  of  such  a  nice  man 
with  such  a  nice  boy. 

"I  understand  perfectly/'  said  I,  and 
I  can't  tell  how  much  I  hated  to  hurt 
him — he  did  so  remind  me  of  dear  old 
"ma"  Burke.  "But— please  don't  dis 
cuss  it.  I  couldn't  consider  the  matter 
— possibly." 

"You  won't  leave!"  he  exclaimed. 
"I  assure  you  I'll  not  annoy  you.  You 
must  admit,  Miss  Talltowers,  that  I 
haven' t  tried  to  thrust  myself  on  you  in  the 
past.  And — really,  mother  and  father 
couldn't  get  on  at  all  without  you." 

"Certainly,  I  shan't  leave — why 
should  I?"  said  I.  "I'm  very  well  satis 
fied  with  my  position." 

139 


The  Social  Secreta©5 

"Thank  you,"  he  said  with  an  awk 
ward  bow,  and  he  left  me  alone. 

Of  course,  I  couldn't  possibly  marry 
him.  But  I  suppose  a  woman's  vanity 
compels  her  to  take  a  more  favorable 
view  of  any  man  after  she's  found  out 
that  he  wishes  to  marry  her.  Anyhow, 
I  find  I  don't  dislike  him  at  all  as  I 
thought  I  did.  I  couldn't  help  being 
amused  at  myself  the  next  day.  I  was 
driving  with  Jessie,  and  she  was  giving 
me  her  usual  sermon  on  the  advantages 
of  the  Burke  alliance — if  I  could  by 
chance  scheme  it  through.  "You're 
very  pretty,  Gus,"  she  said.  "In  fact 
you're  beautiful  at  times.  Men  do  like 
height  when  it  goes  with  your  sort  of 
a — a  willowy  figure.  Your  eyes  alone 
— if  you  would  only  use  them — would 
catch  him.  And  the  Burkes  would  be 
— well,  they  might  object  a  little  at  first 
140 


The  Social 

because  you've  given  them  a  position 
that  has  no  doubt  swollen  their  heads 
— but  they'd  yield  gracefully.  And 
although  you  are  very  attractive  and  are 
always  having  men  in  love  with  you, 
you've  simply  got  to  make  up  your 
mind  soon.  Look  how  many  such  nice, 
good-looking  girls  have  been  crowded 
aside  by  the  young  ones.  Men  are  crazy 
about  freshness,  no  matter  what  they 
pretend.  Yes,  you  must  decide,  dear. 
And — I  couldn't  endure  poor  Carter et 
when  I  married  him." 

Carteret  is  a  miserable  specimen,  and 
Jessie's  ways  keep  him  in  a  dazed  state 
— like  an  old  hen  sitting  on  a  limb  and 
turning  her  head  round  and  round  to 
keep  watch  on  a  fox  that's  racing  in  a 
circle  underneath.  Fox  doesn't  seem 
exactly  to  fit  Jessie,  but  sometimes  I 
suspect —  however — 
141 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

"But,"  Jessie  was  going  on,  "I  knew 
mama  was  my  best  friend.  And  when 
she  said,  'Six  months  after  marriage 
you'll  be  quite  used  to  him  and  won't 
in  the  least  mind,  and  you'll  be  so  glad 
you  married  somebody  who  was  quiet 
and  good/  I  married  him.  And  I  love 
him  dearly,  Gus,  and  we  make  each 
other  so  happy!" 

I  laughed — Jessie  doesn't  mind;  she 
don't  understand  what  laughter  means 
in  most  people.  I  was  thinking  of  what 
Rachel  told  me  the  other  day.  She  said 
to  Carteret,  "It  must  be  great  fun 
wondering  what  Jessie  will  do  next." 
And  he  looked  at  her  in  his  dumb  way 
and  said:  "What  she'll  do  next?  Lord, 
I  ain't  caught  up  with  that.  I'm  just 
about  six  weeks  behind  on  her  record 
all  the  time." 

But  to  go  back  to  Jessie's  talk  to  me, 
142 


The  SocialSecretaGS 

she  went  on:  "And  Mr.  Burke's  not 
so  dreadfully  unattractive,  dear.  Of 
course,  he's  far  from  handsome,  and — 
well,  he's  the  son  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Burke 
— but  though  they're  quite  common  and 
all  that—" 

I  found  myself  furiously  angry.  "I 
don't  think  he's  at  all  bad-looking,"  I 
said,  pretending  to  be  judicial.  "He's 
big  and  strong  and  sensible;  and  what 
more  does  a  woman  usually  ask  for? 
And  I  don't  at  all  agree  with  you  about 
his  father  and  mother,  either — especially 
his  mother.  No,  Jessie,  dear,  my  ob 
jections  aren't  yours  at  all.  I'm  sure  you 
wouldn't  understand  them,  so  let's  not 
talk  about  it." 

February  3.  Yesterday  Mrs.  Tevis 
sent  for  me.  That  was  a  good  deal  of 
an  impertinence,  but  I'm  getting  very 
sensible  about  impertinences.  She  lives 

143 


The  Social 

in  grand  style  in  a  big,  new  house  in 
K  Street — it,  like  everything  about  her, 
is  "regardless  of  expense."  The  Tevises 
have  been  making  the  most  desperate 
efforts  to  "break  in"  last  season  and 
this,  and  as  Washington  is,  up  to  a  cer 
tain  point,  very  easy  for  strangers  with 
money,  they've  gone  pretty  far.  I  sup 
pose  Washington's  like  every  other  cap 
ital — the  people  are  so  used  to  all  sorts 
of  queer  strangers  and  everything  is  so 
restless  and  changeful  that  no  one  minds 
adding  to  his  list  of  acquaintances  any 
person  who  offers  entertainment  and 
isn't  too  appalling.  And  the  Tevises 
have  been  spending  money  like  water. 
It's  queer  how  people  can  go  every 
where  that  anybody  goes  and  can  seem 
to  be  "right  in  it,"  yet  not  be  in  it  at 
all.  That's  the  way  it  is  with  the  Tev 
ises.  They  are  at  every  big  affair  in  town 
144 


The  SocialSecretae£ 

— White  House,  embassies,  private 
houses.  But  they're  never  invited  to  the 
smaller,  more  or  less  informal  things. 
And  when  they  do  appear  at  a  ball  or 
anywhere  they're  treated  with  formal 
politeness.  They  know  there's  some 
thing  wrong,  but  they  can't  for  the  life 
of  them  see  what  it  is.  And  that's  not 
strange,  for  who  can  see  the  line  that's 
instinctively  drawn  between  social  sheep 
and  social  goats  in  the  flock  that's 
apparently  all  mixed  up?  Everybody 
knows  the  sheep  on  sight;  everybody 
knows  the  goats.  And  all  act  accord 
ingly  without  anything  being  said. 

Well,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tevis  are  goats. 
Why?  Anybody  could  see  it  after  talk 
ing  to  either  of  them  for  five  minutes; 
yet  who  could  say  why?  It  isn't  because 
they're  snobs — lots  of  sheep  are  nauseat 
ing  snobs.  It  isn't  because  they're  very 

H5 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

badly  self-made — I  defy  anybody  to  pro 
duce  a  goat  that  can  touch  Willie 
Catesby  or  Rennie  Tucker,  yet  each  of 
them  has  ancestors  by  the  score.  It  isn't 
because  they're  new — the  Burkes  are 
new,  yet  Mrs.  Burke  has  at  least  a  dozen 
intimate  acquaintances  of  the  right  sort. 
It  isn't  because  they're  ostentatious  and 
boastful  about  wealth  and  prices — there 
are  scores  of  sheep  who  make  the  same 
sort  of  absurd  exhibition  of  vulgarity. 
I  can't  place  it.  They're  just  goats,  and 
they  know  it,  and  they  feel  it;  and  when 
you  go  to  their  house  they  suggest  a 
restaurant  keeper  welcoming  his  cus 
tomers;  and  when  they  come  to  your 
house  they  suggest  Cook's  tourists  roam 
ing  in  the  private  apartments  of  a  palace, 
smiling  apologetically  at  every  one  and 
wondering  whether  they're  not  about 
to  be  told  to  "step  lively." 
146 


The  Social  SecretaG£ 

Mrs.  Tevis  received  me  very  grandly 
and  graciously,  though  dreadfully  nerv 
ous  withal,  lest  I  should  be  seeing  that 
she  was  "throwing  a  bluff"  and  should 
put  her  in  her  place. 

"I've  requested  you  to  come,  my  dear 
Miss  Talltowers,"  she  began,  after  she 
had  bunglingly  served  tea  from  the  new 
est  and  costliest  and  most  elaborate  tea-set 
I  ever  saw,  "because  I  had  a  little  mat 
ter  of  business  to  talk  over  with  you 
and  felt  that  we  could  talk  more  freely 
here." 

"I  must  be  back  at  half-past  five," 
said  I,  by  way  of  urging  her  on  to  the 
point. 

"That  will  be  quite  time  enough," 
said  she.  "We  can  have  our  little  con 
versation  quite  nicely,  and  you  will  be 
in  ample  time  for  your  duties." 

I  wonder  what  sort  of  dialect  she 

147 


The  Social  Secreta££ 

thinks  in.  It  certainly  can't  be  more 
irritating  than  the  one  she  translates  her 
thoughts  into  before  speaking  them. 
The  dialect  she  inflicts  on  people  sounds 
as  if  it  were  from  a  Complete  Conver 
sationalist,  got  up  by  an  old  maid  who 
had  been  teaching  school  for  forty 
years. 

"I  hare  decided  to  take  a  secretary 
for  next  season/'  she  went  on.  "Not 
that  I  need  any  such  direction  as  the 
Burkes.  Fortunately,  Mr.  Tevis  and  I 
have  had  a  large  social  experience  on 
both  sides  of  the  Atlantic  and  have  al 
ways  moved  with  the  best  pebple.  But 
just  a  secretary — to  attend  to  my  oner 
ous  correspondence  and  arrangements 
for  entertaining.  The  duties  would  be 
light,  but  we  should  be  willing  to  pay 
a  larger  salary  than  the  position  would 
really  justify—  that  is,  we  should  be  will- 


The  Social  Secretaj35 

ing  to  pay  it,  you  know,  to  a  lady  such 
as  you  are/' 

I  bowed. 

"We  should  treat  you  with  all  deli 
cacy  and  appreciation  of  the  fact  that 
your  misfortunes  have  compelled  you  to 
take  a — a — position — which — which — " 

"You  are  very  kind,  Mrs.  Tevis," 
said  I. 

"And  we  realized  that  in  all  proba 
bility  the  Burkes  would  have  no  further 
use  for  your  services  at  the  end  of  this 
season,  as  you  have  been  most  success 
ful  with  them." 

I  winced.  For  the  first  time  the 
"practical"  view  of  what  I've  been 
doing  for  the  Burkes  stared  me  in  the 
face— that  is,  the  view  which  such  people 
as  the  Tevises,  perhaps  many  of  my 
friends,  took  of  it.  So  I  was  being  re 
garded,  spoken  of,  discussed,  as  a  person 
149 


The  Social  SecretaQj 

who  had  been  bought  by  the  Burkes  to 
get  them  in  with  certain  people.  And 
it  was  assumed  that,  having  got  what 
they  wanted,  they  would  dismiss  me  and 
so  cut  off  a  superfluous  expense!  I  was 
somewhat  astonished  at  myself  for  not 
having  seen  my  position  in  this  light 
before. 

And  I  suddenly  realized  why  I  hadn't 
— because  the  Burkes  were  really  nice  peo 
ple,  because  I  hadn't  been  their  employee 
but  their  friend.  What  if  I  had  started 
my  career  as  a  dependent  of  Mrs.  TevisM 
I  shivered.  And  when  the  Burkes  should 
need  me  no  longer — why,  the  probabili 
ties  were  that  I  should  have  to  seek  em 
ployment  from  just  such  dreadful  people 
as  these — upstarts  eager  to  jam  them 
selves  in,  vulgarians  whom  icy  manners 
and  forbidding  looks  only  influence  to 
fiercer  efforts  to  associate  with  those 
150 


The  Social  Secretae£ 

who  don't  wish  to  associate  with  them. 

Mrs.  Tevis  interrupted  my  dismal 
thoughts  with  a  cough,  intended  to  be 
polite.  "What — what — compensation 
would  you  expect,  may  I  ask?" 

"What  do  such  positions  pay?"  I  said, 
and  my  voice  sounded  harsh  to  me.  I 
wished  to  know  what  value  was  usually 
put  upon  such  services. 

"Would — say — twenty-five  dollars  a 
week  be— meet  with  your  views?"  she 
asked,  and  her  tone  was  that  of  a  per 
son  performing  an  act  of  astounding 
generosity. 

"Oh,  dear  me,  no,"  said  I,  with  the 
kind  of  sweetness  that  coats  a  pill  of 
gall.  "I  couldn't  think  of  trying  to  get 
you  in  for  any  such  sum  as  that." 

I  saw  that  the  gall  had  bit  through 
the  sugar-coat. 

"Would  you  object  to  giving  me  some 


The  Social  SecretaQ5 

idea  of  what  the  Burkes  pay?"  she  asked, 
with  the  taste  puckering  her  mouth. 

"I  should/'  I  replied,  rising.  "Any 
how,  I  don't  care  to  undertake  the  job. 
Thank  you  so  much  for  your  generosity 
and  kindness,  Mrs.  Tevis."  I  nodded 
— I'm  afraid  it  was  a  nod  intended  to 
"put  her  in  her  place."  "Good-by." 
And  I  smiled  and  got  myself  out  of  the 
room  before  she  recovered. 

I  'wish  I  hadn't  seen  her.  I  hate  the 
truth — it's  always  unpleasant. 

February  5.  Mrs.  Burke  had  thirty- 
one  invitations  to-day,  eleven  of  them 
for  her  and  Mr.  Burke.  Seven  were  in 
vitations  to  little  affairs  which  Mrs. 
Tevis  would  give — well,  perhaps  five 
dollars  apiece — to  get  to.  How  ridic 
ulous  for  her  to  economize  in  the  one 
way  in  which  liberality  is  most  neces 
sary.  Here  they  are  spending  probably 
152 


The  Social  Secret aG£ 

a  hundred  thousand  dollars  a  season  in 
hopeless  attempts  to  do  that  which  they 
would  hesitate  to  pay  me  six  hundred 
dollars  for  doing.  And  this  when  they 
think  I  could  accomplish  it.  But  could 
I?  I  guess  not.  To  win  out  as  I  have 
with  the  Burkes  you've  got  to  have  the 
right  sort  of  material  to  work  on,  and 
it  must  be  workable.  Vulgar  people 
would  be  ashamed  to  put  themselves  in 
any  one's  hands  as  completely  as  Mrs. 
Burke  put  herself  in  my  hands. 

Oh,  I'm  sick — sick,  sick  of  it!  I'm 
ashamed  to  look  "ma"  Burke  in  the 
face,  because  I  think  such  mean  things 
about  them  all  when  I'm  in  bed  and  blue. 

February  6.  I  decline  all  the  invita 
tions  that  come  for  me  personally.  I  sit 
in  my  "office"  and  pretend  to  be  fussing 
with  my  books — they  give  me  the  hor 
rors  !  And  I  was  so  proud  of  them  and 

153 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

of  my  plans  to  make  my  little  enter 
prise  a  success. 

February  7.  Mrs.  Burke  came  in 
this  afternoon  and  came  round  my  desk 
and  kissed  me.  "What  is  it,  dear? 
What's  the  matter?"  she  said.  "Won't 
you  tell  me?  Why,  I  feel  as  if  you 
were  my  daughter.  I  did  have  a  daugh 
ter.  She  came  first.  Tom  was  so  dis 
appointed.  But  I  was  glad.  A  son 
belongs  to  both  his  parents,  and,  when 
he's  grown  up,  to  his  wife.  But  a 
daughter — she  would  'a'  belonged  to  me 
always.  And  she  had  to  up  and  die  just 
when  she  was  about  to  make  up  her 
mind  to  talk." 

I  put  my  face  down  in  my  arms  on 
the  desk. 

"Tired,  dear?"  said  "ma"— she's  a 
born  "ma."  "Of  course,  that's  it.  You're 
clean  pegged  out,  working  and  worry- 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

ing.  You  must  put  it  all  away  and  rest." 
And  she  sat  down  by  me. 

All  of  a  sudden — I  couldn't  help  it 
— I  put  my  head  on  her  great,  big  bosom 
and  burst  out  crying.  "Oh,  I'm  so  bad!" 
I  said.  "And  you're  so  good!" 

She  patted  me  and  kissed  me  on  top 
of  my  head.  "What  pretty,  soft  hair 
you  have,  dear,"  she  said,  "and  what  a 
lot  of  it!  My!  My!  I  don't  see  how 
anybody  that  looks  like  you  do  could  ever 
be  unhappy  a  minute.  You  don't  know 
what  it  means  to  be  born  homely  and 
fat  and  to  have  to  work  hard  just  to 
make  people  not  object  to  having  you 
about."  And  she  went  on  talking  in 
that  way  until  I  was  presently  laugh 
ing,  still  against  that  great,  big  bosom 
with  the  great,  big  heart  beating  under 
it.  When  I  felt  that  it  would  be  a  down 
right  imposition  to  stay  there  any  longer 

155 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

I  straightened  up.    I  felt  quite  cheerful. 

"Was  there  something  worrying 
you?"  she  asked. 

I  blushed  and  hung  my  head.  "Yes, 
but  I  can't  tell  you/'  said  I.  And  I 
couldn't — could  I  ?  Besides,  there  some 
how  doesn't  seem  to  be  much  of  any 
thing  in  all  my  brooding.  What  a  nasty 
beast  that  Mrs.  Tevis  is! 

February  12.  Mrs.  Burke  and  I  went 
to  a  reception  at  the  Secretary  of  State's 
this  afternoon.  We  saw  Nadeshda's  sis 
ter  in  the  distance — that's  where  we've 
always  seen  her  and  the  ambassador  and 
the  whole  embassy  staff  ever  since  the 
"bust-up,"  except  funny  little  De  Pleyev. 
He,  being  of  a  mediatized  family,  does 
not  need  to  disturb  himself  about  am 
bassadorial  frowns  or  smiles.  It's  curi 
ous  what  a  strong  resemblance  there  is 
between  a  foreigner  of  royal  blood  and 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

a  straightaway  American  gentleman. 
But,  as  I  was  about  to  write,  this  after 
noon  the  distance  between  us  and  Ma 
dame  P  Ambassadrice  slowly  lessened,  and 
when  she  was  quite  close  to  us  she  gave 
us  a  dazzling  smile  apiece  and  said  to 
Mrs.  Burke:  "My  dear  Madame  Burke, 
you  are  looking  most  charming.  You 
must  come  to  us  to  tea.  To-morrow? 
Do  say  yes — we've  missed  you  so.  My 
poor  back — it  almost  shuts  me  out  of 
the  world/'  And  she  passed  on — prob 
ably  didn't  wish  to  risk  the  chance  that 
"ma's"  puzzled  look  might  give  place 
to  an  expression  of  some  kind  of  anger 
and  that  she  might  make  one  of  those 
frank  speeches  she's  famous  for. 

"Well,  did  you  ever!"  exclaimed 
"ma"  when  the  Countess  was  out  of 
earshot. 

I  said  warningly:  "Everybody's  seen 

'57 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

it  and  is  watching  you."  And  it  was 
true.  The  whole  crowd  in  those  per 
fume-steeped  rooms  was  gaping,  and  the 
news  had  spread  so  quickly  that  a  throng 
was  pushing  in  from  the  tea-room,  some 
of  them  still  chewing. 

Afterward  we  discussed  it,  and  could 
come  to  but  one  conclusion — that  the 
Robert-Nadeshda  crisis  had  passed.  But 
— do  the  Daraganes  think  that  Nadeshda 
is  safe  from  Robert,  or  have  they  decided 
to  take  him  in?  Certainly,  something 
decisive  has  happened.  And  if  Robert 
had  anything  to  do  with  it  it  must  have 
been  stirring  enough  to  make  the  Dara 
ganes  use  the  cable — how  else  could 
Nadeshda's  sister  have  got  her  cue  so 
soon  ? 

February  15.  No  news  whatever  of 
Robert  and  Nadeshda.  Yesterday  the 
ambassadress  came  here  to  tea  and  said 

158 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

to  Mrs.  Burke  that  she  had  had  a  letter 
from  Nadeshda  in  which  she  sent  us 
all  her  love — "especially  your  dear, 
splendid,  big  Monsieur  Cyrus."  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Burke  are  to  dine  at  the  embassy 
five  weeks  from  to-night — the  ambas 
sadress  insisted  on  Mrs.  Burke's  giving 
her  first  free  evening  to  her,  and  that 
was  it. 

"I  reckon  we'll  have  to  go,"  said 
"ma"  after  her  departure,  and  while  the 
odor  of  her  frightfully-powerful  helio 
trope  scent  was  still  heavy  in  the  room, 
"though  I  doubt  if  I'll  be  alive  by  then. 
Sometimes  it  seems  to  me  I've  just  got 
to  knock  off  and  take  a  clean  week  in 
bed.  I  thought  I'd  never  think  of  drugs 
to  keep  me  going,  as  so  many  women 
advise.  But  I  see  I'm  getting  round  to 
it.  And  I'm  getting  that  fat  in  the  body 
and  that  lean  in  the  face!  Did  you  ever 

159 


The  SocialSecretaGS 

see  the  like?  I  must  V  lost  three  pounds 
off  my  face.  And  the  skin's  hanging 
there  waiting  for  it  to  come  back,  in 
stead  of  shrinking.  I'm  glad  my  Tom 
never  looks  at  me.  I  know  to  a  certainty 
he  ain't  looked  at  me  in  twenty  years. 
Husbands  and  wives  don't  waste  much 
time  looking  at  each  other,  and  I  guess 
it's  a  good,  safe  plan." 

Mrs.  Burke  does  look  badly.  I  must 
take  better  care  of  her.  Cyrus  looks 
badly,  too.  I  haven't  seen  him  to  talk 
to  since  he  made  his  "strictly  business" 
proposition.  I  suppose  he  wants  me  to 
realize  that  he  isn't  one  of  the  pestering 
kind.  I'm  sorry  he  takes  it  that  way, 
as  I'd  have  liked  to  be  friends  with  him. 
He  quarreled  so  beautifully  when  we 
didn't  agree.  It's  a  great  satisfaction  to 
have  some  one  at  hand  who  both  agrees 
and  quarrels  in  a  satisfactory  way.  But 
160 


The  Social  Secreta^S 

I  don't  dare  make  any  advances  to  him. 
He  might  misunderstand. 

I've  just  been  laughing — at  his  cow 
lick.  It  is  such  an  obstinate  little  swirl. 
And  when  he  looks  serious  it  looks  so 
funnily  frisky,  and  when  he  smiles  it 
looks  so  fiercely  serious  and  disapprov 
ing.  Yesterday  I  hurried  suddenly  into 
the  little  room  just  off  the  ball-room, 
thinking  it  was  empty.  But  Cyrus  and 
his  mother  were  there,  and  he  was  tick 
ling  her,  and  he  looked  so  fond  of  her, 
and  she  looked  so  delighted.  I  slipped 
away  without  their  seeing  me. 

February  16.  We  gave  our  second 
big  ball  last  night  with  a  dinner  for  sixty 
before.  It  was  just  half-past  five  this 
morning  when  the  last  couple  came 
sneaking  out  from  the  alcove  off  the  lit 
tle  room  beyond  the  conservatory  and, 
we  pretending  not  to  see  them,  scuttled 
161 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

away  without  saying  good  night. 
Major-General  Cutler  danced  with  Mrs. 
Burke  in  the  opening  quadrille,  and 
Mr.  Burke  danced  with  the  British  am 
bassadress — the  ambassador  is  ill.  I  had 
Jim  on  my  hands  most  of  the  evening 
— though  I  was  flirting  desperately  with 
little  D'Estourelle,  he  hung  to  me  with 
a  maddening  husbandish  air  of  propri 
etorship.  I  don't  see  how  I  ever  en 
dured  him,  much  less  thought  of  marry 
ing  him.  Cyrus  Burke  is  a  king  beside 
him.  Excuse  me  from  men  who  think 
the  fact  that  they've  done  a  woman  the 
honor  of  loving  her  gives  them  a  prop 
erty  right  to  her.  Mrs.  Burke  was  the 
belle  of  the  ball.  She  had  a  crowd  of 
men  round  her  chair  all  evening,  laugh 
ing  at  everything  she  said. 

February  17.     A  cable  from  Robert 
Guhton  at  Hamburg  this  morning — 

162 


The  Social  Secr 

just  "Arrive  Washington  about  March 
3."  That  was  all — worse  than  nothing. 
It  is  Lent,  but  there's  no  let  up  for  us. 
We  only  get  rid  of  the  kind  of  enter 
tainments  that  cost  us  the  least  trouble 
to  plan  and  give,  and  we  have  to  arrange 
more  of  the  kind  that  have  to  be  done 
carefully.  Anybody  can  give  a  dance, 
but  it  takes  skill  to  give  a  successful 
dinner. 

February  19.  Nadeshda's  sister  said 
to-day,  quite  casually,  to  Jessie:  "Desh- 
da's  coming  back,  and  we're  so  glad. 
The  trip  has  done  her  so  much  good — 
in  every  way."  Now,  whatever  did  that 
mean? 


163 


VI 

FEBRUARY  26.    No  news  of 
Robert  and  Nadeshda.     Have 
been  glancing  through  this  diary. 
How  conceited  I  am,  taking  credit  to 
myself  for  everything.     I  wonder  if  I 
am  vainer  than  most  people,  or  does 
everybody  make  the  same  ridiculous  dis 
covery   about  himself  when   he  takes 
himself  off  his  guard?    What  an  imper 
fect  record  this  is  of  our  launching.    But 
then,  if  I  had  made  it  perfect  I  should 
have  had  to  go  into  so  many  wearisome 
details,  not  to  speak  of  my  having  so 
164 


The  Social  Secret aQ5 

little  time.  Still,  it  would  have  been 
interesting  to  read  some  day,  when  I 
shall  have  forgotten  the  little  steps — for 
although  we've  had  in  all  only  a  month 
before  the  season  and  five  weeks  between 
New  Year's  and  Ash  Wednesday,  so 
much  has  been  crowded  into  that  time. 
It's  amazing  what  one  can  accomplish 
if  one  uses  every  moment  to  a  single 
purpose.  And  I've  not  only  used  my 
own  time,  but  Robert's  and  Jessie's  and 
the  time  of  their  and  my  friends,  and 
that  of  Nadeshda  and  a  dozen  other  peo 
ple.  They  and  I  all  worked  together 
to  make  my  enterprise  a  success — and 
Jim  and  the  Senator,  and  "ma"  Burke 
was  a  great  help  after  the  first  few 
weeks.  Yes,  and  I  mustn't  forget  Cyrus. 
He  has  made  himself  astonishingly  pop 
ular.  I  see  now  that  he  showed  a  bet 
ter  side  to  every  one  than  he  did  to  me. 

165 


The  Social  Secreta©5 

Perhaps  I  can  guess  why.  I  wonder  if 
he  really  cares  or  did  care — for  me,  or 
was  it  just  "ma"  trying  to  get  me  into 
the  family,  and  he  willing  to  do  any 
thing  she  asked  of  him? 

But  to  go  back  to  my  vanity — I  see 
that  Jessie,  Rachel  and  Cyrus  were  the 
real  cause  of  my  success.  Jessie  and 
Rachel  alone  could  make  anybody,  who 
wasn't  positively  awful,  a  go.  Then 
Nadeshda,  bent  on  marrying  Cyrus  at 
first,  was  a  big  help — and  every  mama 
with  a  marriageable  daughter  was  hot 
on  Cyrus*  trail.  So  it's  easy  to  make 
an  infallible  recipe  for  getting  into  so 
ciety:  First,  wealth;  second,  willingness 
to  act  on  competent  advice;  third,  get 
a  "secretary"  who  knows  society  and 
has  intimate  friends  in  its  most  exclu 
sive  set,  and  who  also  knows  how  to 
arrange  entertainments;  fourth,  have  a 
166 


The  Social  Secretaos 

marriageable  son,  if  possible,  or,  failing 
that,  a  daughter,  or,  failing  that,  a  near 
relative  who  will  be  well  dowered;  fifth, 
organize  the  campaign  thoroughly  and 
pay  particular  attention  to  getting  your 
self  liked  by  the  few  people  who  really 
count.  You  can't  bribe  them;  you  can't 
drive  them;  you  must  amuse  them.  The 
more  leisure  people  have  the  harder  it 
is  to  amuse  them. 

Looking  back,  I  can  see  that  "ma" 
Burke  passed  her  social  crisis  when,  on 
January  5,  Mrs.  Gaether  asked  her  to 
assist  at  her  reception.  For  Mrs. 
Gaether  was  the  first  social  power  who 
took  "ma"  up  simply  and  solely  because 
she  liked  her. 

We  have  spent  a  great  deal  of  money, 
but  not  half  what  the  Tevises  have  spent. 
But  our  money  counted  because  it  was 
incidental.  Mere  money  won't  carry  any 

' 


,    The  Social 

one  very  far  in  Washington — I  don't 
believe  it  will  anywhere,  except,  per 
haps,  in  New  York. 

I  ought  to  have  kept  some  sort  of 
record  of  what  we've  done  from  day  to 
day — I  mean,  more  detailed  than  my 
books.  However,  I'll  just  put  in  our 
last  full  day  before  Lent,  as  far  as  I  can 
recall  it.  No,  I'll  only  write  out  what 
Mrs.  Burke  alone  did  that  day: 

7:30  to  10.  She  and  I,  in  her  room, 
went  over  the  arrangements  for  the  ball 
we  were  giving  in  the  evening. 

10  to  12:30.  She  went  to  see  half  a 
dozen  people  about  various  social  matters, 
besides  doing  a  great  deal  of  shopping. 

12:30  to  1:45.  More  worrying  con 
sultation  with  me,  then  dressing  for 
luncheon. 

1:45  to  3:4S'  A  l°ng  an(i  tiresome 
luncheon  at  one  of  the  embassies. 

168 


The  Social  Secreta^s 

3:45  to  6:30.  More  than  twenty  calls 
and  teas — a  succession  of  exhausting 
rushes  and  struggles. 

6:30  to  7:15.  In  the  drawing-room 
here,  with  a  lot  of  people  coming  and 
going. 

7:15  to  8.  Dressing  for  dinner — a 
frightful  rush. 

8  to  8:30.  Receiving  the  dinner 
guests. 

8:30  to  10:45.    The  dinner. 

10:45  to  midnight.  Receiving  the 
guests  for  the  dance — on  her  feet  all  the 
time. 

Midnight  to  6  in  the  morning.  Sit 
ting,  but  incessantly  busy. 

6  to  9.    In  bed. 

9.    A  new  and  crowded  day. 

This  has  been  a  short  season,  but  I 
don't  think  it  was  the  shortness,  crowd 
ing  much  into  a  few  days,  that  made 
169 


The  Social  Secreta££ 

the  pressure  so  great.  It's  simply  that 
year  by  year  Washington  becomes  so 
cially  worse  and  worse.  As  I  looked 
round  at  that  last  ball  of  ours  I  pitied 
the  people  who  were  nerving  themselves 
up  to  trying  to  enjoy  themselves. 

Almost  every  one  was,  and  looked, 
worn  out.  Here  and  there  the  un 
natural  brightness  of  eyes  or  cheeks 
showed  that  somebody — usually  a  young 
person — had  been  driven  to  some  sort  of 
stimulant  to  enable  him  or  her  to  hold 
the  pace.  Quick  to  laugh;  quick  to 
frown  and  bite  the  lips  in  almost  uncon 
trollable  anger.  Nerves  on  edge,  flesh 
quivering. 

Yet,  what  is  one  to  do?  To  be  "in 
it"  one  must  go  all  the  time;  not  to  go 
all  the  time,  not  to  accept  all  the  prin 
cipal  invitations,  is  to  make  enemies 
right  and  left.  Besides,  who  that  gets 
170 


The  Social 

into  the  hysterical  state  which  the 
Washington  season  induces  can  be  con 
tent  to  sit  quietly  at  home  when  on 
every  side  there  are  alluring  opportuni 
ties  to  enjoy? 

No  wonder  we  see  less  and  less  of  the 
jien  of  importance.  No  wonder  the 
"sons  of  somebodies"  and  the  young 
men  of  the  embassies  and  legations  and 
departments,  most  of  them  amiable 
enough,  but  all  just  about  as  near  nothing 
as  you  would  naturally  expect,  are  the 
best  the  women  can  get  to  their  houses. 

It  is  foolish;  it  is  frightful.  But  it  is 
somehow  fascinating,  and  it  gives  us 
women  the  chance  to  go  the  same  reck 
less  American  gait  that  the  men  go  in 
their  business  and  professions. 

I  am  utterly  worn  out.  I  might  be 
asleep  at  this  moment.  Yet  I'm  sitting 
here  alone,  too  feverish  for  hope  of  rest. 
171 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

And  I  can  see  lights  in  Cyrus'  apart 
ment  and  in  Senator  Burke's  sitting- 
room,  and  I  don't  doubt  poor  "ma"  is 
tossing  miserably  in  a  vain  attempt  to 
get  the  sleep  that  used  to  come  unasked 
and  stay  until  it  was  fought  off. 

It  is  Lent,  and  the  season  is  supposed 
to  be  over.  But  the  rush  is  still  on,  and 
other  things  which  crowd  and  jam  in 
more  than  fill  up  the  vacant  space  left  by 
big,  formal  parties.  It  seems  to  me  that 
there  is  even  as  much  dancing  as  there  was 
two  weeks  ago.  The  only  difference  is 
that  it  isn't  formally  arranged  for  be 
forehand. 

I'd  like  to  "shut  off  steam" — indeed, 
it  seems  to  me  that  I  must  if  "ma" 
Burke  is  not  to  be  sacrificed.  But  how 
can  we?  People  expect  us  to  entertain, 
and  we  must  go  out  to  their  affairs  also. 
The  only  escape  would  be  to  fly,  and 
172 


The  Social  Secretaj35 

we  can't  do  that  so  long  as  Congress 
is  sitting. 

February  27.  Robert  and  Nadeshda 
are  both  in  town,  he  with  us,  she  at  the 
embassy.  They  are  to  be  married  the 
twelfth  of  April.  The  engagement  is  to 
be  announced  to-morrow.  I've  never  seen 
any  one  more  demure  than  Nadeshda,  or 
happier.  I  suspect  she's  going  to  settle 
down  into  the  most  domestic  of  women. 
Indeed,  I  know  it — for,  as  she  says,  she's 
afraid  of  him,  obeys  him  as  a  dog  its  mas 
ter,  and  the  domestic  side  of  her  is  the 
only  one  he'll  tolerate.  I've  always  heard 
that  her  sort  of  woman  is  the  tamest, 
once  it's  under  control.  She  has  will 
but  no  continuity.  He  has  a  stronger 
will  and  his  purposes  are  unalterable. 
So  he'll  continue  to  dominate  her. 

"Ma"  Burke  asked  him,  "How  did 
you  make  out  with  her  folks?" 

173 


The'Social  Secreta^ 

He  smiled,  then  laughed. 

"I  don't  know — exactly/'  he  said. 
"They  couldn't  talk  my  language  nor 
I  theirs.  So  it  was  all  done  through  an 
interpreter.  And  he  was  Mrs.  Dean's 
brother-in-law,  Prince  Gluckstein, 
and  a  regular  trump.  He  saw  them 
half  a  dozen  times  before  I  did. 
When  I  saw  them  everything  was 
lovely.  They  left  me  alone  with  her 
after  twenty  minutes.  Finally  it  was 
agreed  that  we  should  come  back  on 
the  same  steamer,  her  brother  accom 
panying  her." 

"But  why  on  earth  didn't  you  cable 
us?"  she  demanded. 

"I  did,"  he  replied. 

"But  you  didn't  tell  us  anything," 
she  returned. 

"I  told  you  all  there  was  to  tell,"  he 
replied. 

174 


The  Social  Secreta^s 

"You  only  said  you  were  coming/3 
she  objected. 

"Well,"  he  answered,  looking 
somewhat  surprised,  "I  knew  you'd 
know  I  wouldn't  come  without  her." 

I'm  glad  he  didn't  get  it  into  his 
head  to  "take  after"  me.  A  woman 
stands  no  more  chance  with  a  man  like 
that  than  a  rabbit  with  a  greyhound. 

February  29.  "Ma"  Burke  is  dread 
fully  ill — has  been  for  two  days.  The 
doctors  have  got  several  large  Latin 
names  for  it,  but  the  plain  truth  is  that 
she  has  broken  down  under  the  strain 
she  seemed  to  be  bearing  so  placidly. 
She  didn't  give  up  until  she  was  abso 
lutely  unable  to  lift  herself  out  of  bed. 
"I  knew  it  was  coming/'  she  said,  "but 
I  thought  I  had  spirit  enough  to  put 
it  off  till  I  had  more  time." 

It  wasn't  until  she  did  give  up  that 

175 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

ter  face  really  showed  how  badly  off 
she  was.  I  was  sitting  by  her  bed  when 
"pa"  Burke  and  Cyrus  came  in.  I 
couldn't  bear  to  look  at  them,  yet  I 
couldn't  keep  my  eyes  off  their  faces. 
Both  got  deadly  white  at  sight  of  her, 
and  "pa"  rushed  from  the  room  after  a 
moment  or  two.  The  doctor  had  cau 
tioned  him  against  alarming  her  by 
showing  any  signs  of  grief.  But  "pa" 
couldn't  stand  it.  He  went  to  his  study, 
and  the  housekeeper  told  me  he  cried 
like  a  baby.  Cyrus  stayed,  and  I  couldn't 
help  admiring  the  way  he  put  on  cheer 
fulness. 

"I'll  be  all  right  in  a  few  days,"  said 
"ma."  "It  wasn't  what  I  did;  it  was 
what  I  et.  I'm  such  a  fool  that  I  can't 
let  things  that  look  good  go  by.  And 
I  went  from  house  to  house,  munching 
away,  cake  here,  candy  there,  choco- 


The  Social  SecretaQS 

late  yonder,  besides  lunches  and  dinners 
and  suppers.  I  et  in  and  I  et  out.  Now, 
I  reckon  I've  got  to  settle  the  bill. 
Thank  the  Lord  I  don't  have  to  do  it 
standing  up." 

Cyrus  and  I  went  away  from  her 
room  together.  "If  she  wasn't  so  good," 
said  he,  more  to  himself  than  to  me, 
"I'd  not  be  so — so  uncertain." 

"I  feel  that  I'm  to  blame,"  said  I 
bitterly.  "It  was  I  that  gave  her  all 
those  things  to  do." 

He  was  silent,  and  his  silence  fright 
ened  me.  I  had  felt  that  I  was  partly 
to  blame.  His  silence  made  me  feel 
that  I  was  wholly  to  blame,  and  that 
he  thought  so. 

"If  I  could  only  undo  it,"  I  said,  in 
what  little  voice  I  could  muster. 

"If  you  only  could,"  he  muttered. 

I  was  utterly  crushed.    Every  bit  of 


The  Social  Secretaos 

my  courage  fled,  and — but  what's  the 
use  of  trying  to  describe  it  ?  It  was  as 
if  I  had  tried  to  murder  her  and  had 
come  to  my  senses  and  was  realizing 
what  I'd  done. 

I  suppose  I  must  have  shown  what 
was  in  my  mind,  for,  all  of  a  sudden, 
with  a  sort  of  sob  or  groan,  he  put  his 
arms  round  me — such  a  strong  yet  such 
a  gentle  clasp!  "Don't  look  like  that, 
dear!"  he  pleaded.  "Forgive  me — 
it  was  cowardly,  what  I  said — and  not 
true.  We're  all  to  blame — you  the  least. 
Haven't  I  seen,  day  after  day,  how  you've 
done  everything  you  could  to  spare  her 
— how  you've  worn  yourself  out?" 

He  let  me  go  as  suddenly  as  he  had 
seized  me. 

"I'm  not  fit  to  be  called  a  man!"  he 
exclaimed.  "Just  because  I  loved  you, 
and  was  always  thinking  of  you,  and 


The  Social  Secretacg 

watching  you,  and  worrying  about  you, 
I  neglected  to  think  of  mother.  If  I'd 
given  her  a  single  thought  I'd  have 
known  long  ago  that  she  was  ill." 

Just  then  Mrs.  Burke's  maid  called 
me — she  was  only  a  few  yards  away, 
and  must  have  seen  everything.  I  hur 
ried  back  to  the  room  we  had  quitted 
a  few  minutes  before.  "You  must  cheer 
up  those  two  big,  foolish  men,  child," 
she  said.  "You  all  think  I'm  going  to 
pass  over,  but  I'm  not.  You  won't  get 
rid  of  me  for  many  a  year.  And  I  rely 
on  you  to  prevent  them  from  going  all 
to  pieces." 

She  paused  and  looked  at  me  wist 
fully,  as  if  she  longed  to  say  something 
but  was  afraid  she  had  no  right  to.  I 
said:  "What  is  it — ma?" 

Her  face  brightened.  "Come,  kiss 
me,"  she  murmured.  "Thank  you  for 
179 


The  Social  Secretae£ 

saying  that.  We're  very  different  in  lots 
of  ways,  being  raised  so  different.  But 
hearts  have  a  way  of  finding  each  other, 
haven't  they?" 

I  nodded. 

"What  I  wanted  to  say  was  about — 
Cyrus,"  she  went  on.  "My  Cyrus  told 
me  that  he  don't  see  how  he  could  get 
along  without  you,  no  way,  and  I  ad 
vised  him  to  talk  to  you  about  it,  be 
cause  I  knew  it'd  relieve  his  mind  and 
because  it'd  set  you  to  looking  at  him  in 
a  different  way.  Anyhow,  it's  always 
a  good  plan  to  ask  for  what  you  want. 
And  he  did — and  he  told  me  you  wouldn't 
hear  to  him.  Don't  think  I'm  trying  to 
persuade  you.  All  I  meant  to  say  is 
that—" 

She  stopped  and  smiled,  a  bright 
shadow  of  that  old,  broad,  beaming  smile 
of  hers. 

180 


The  Social  SecretaG£ 

<*Fd  do  anything  for  you!"  I  ex 
claimed,  on  impulse. 

"I'm  afraid  that  wouldn't  suit  Cyrus/' 
she  drawled,  good  humoredly.  "He'd 
be  mad  as  the  Old  Scratch  if  he  knew 
what  I  was  up  to  now.  Well — do  the 
best  you  can.  But  don't  do  anything 
unless  it's  for  his  sake.  Only — just  look 
him  over  again.  There's  a  lot  to  Cyrus 
besides  his  cowlick.  And  he's  been  so 
dead  in  love  with  you  ever  since  he  first 
saw  you  that  he's  been  making  a  perfect 
fool  of  himself  every  time  he  looked  at 
you  or  spoke  to  you.  Sometimes,  when 
I've  seen  the  way  he's  acted  up,  like  a 
farmhand  waltzing  in  cowhides,  I've  felt 
like  taking  him  over  my  knees  and  lay 
ing  it  on  good  and  hard." 

I  was  laughing  so  that  I  couldn't 
answer — the  reaction  from  the  fear  that 
she  might  be  very,  very  ill  had  made  me 
181 


The  Social  Secreta^S 

hysterical.  I  could  still  see  that  she  was 
sick,  extremely  sick,  but  I  realized  that 
our  love  for  her  had  just  put  us  into  a 


"  Do  the  best  you  can,  dear/'  she  ended. 
"And  everything  —  all  the  entertaining 
here  and  the  going  out  —  must  be  kept 
up  just  the  same  as  if  I  was  being 
dragged  about  down  stairs  j  istead  of  lying 
up  here  resting." 

She  insisted  on  this,  and  would  not  be 
content  until  she  had  my  promise.  "  And 
don't  forget  to  cheer  pa  and  Cyrus  up. 
I  never  was  sick  before—  not  a  day. 
That's  why  they  take  on  so." 

I  think  I  have  been  succeeding  in 
cheering  them  up.  And  everything  is 
going  forward  as  before  —  except,  of 
course,  that  we've  cut  out  every  engage 
ment  we  possibly  could. 

It's  amazing  how  many  friends  "ma" 

182 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

Burke  has  made  in  such  a  short  time. 
Ever  since  the  news  of  her  illness  got 
out,  the  front  door  has  been  opening  and 
shutting  all  day  long.  And  those  of  the 
callers  that  I've  seen  have  shown  a  real 
interest.  This  has  made  me  have  a  bet 
ter  opinion  of  human  nature  than  I  had 
thought  I  could  have.  I  suppose  half 
the  seeming  heartlessness  in  this  world 
is  suspicion  and  a  sort  of  miserly  dread 
lest  one  should  give  kindly  feeling  with 
out  getting  any  of  it  in  return.  But 
"ma"  Burke,  who  never  bothers  her 
head  for  an  instant  about  whether  peo 
ple  like  her,  and  gets  all  her  pleasure 
out  of  liking  them,  makes  friends  by  the  j 
score. 

I'm  in  a  queer  state  of  mind  about 
Cyrus. 

March  3.    "Ma"  Burke  was  brought 
down  to  the  drawing-room  for  tea 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

to-day.  She  held  a  regular  levee.  Those 
that  came  early  spread  it  round,  and  by 
six  o'clock  they  were  pouring  in.  She 
looked  extremely  well,  and  gloriously 
happy.  All  she  had  needed  was  com 
plete  rest  and  sleep — and  less  to  eat. 
"After  this/'  she  said,  "I'm  not  going 
to  eat  more  than  four  or  five  meals  a 
day.  At  my  age  a  woman  can't  stand 
the  strain  often  and  twelve — my  record 
was  sixteen — counting  two  teas  as  one 
meal."  For  an  hour  there  was  hilarious 
chattering  in  English,  French,  German, 
Italian,  Russian,  and  mixtures  of  all  five. 
I  think  the  thing  that  most  fascinates 
Mrs.  Burke  about  Washington  is  the 
many  languages  spoken.  She  looks  at 
me  in  an  awed  way  when  I  trot  out  my 
three  in  quick  succession.  And  she  re 
gards  the  women  as  superhuman  who 
speak  so  many  languages  so  fluently  that 
184 


The  Social  Secreta^S 

they  drift  from  one  to  the  other  with 
out  being  quite  sure  what  they're  speak 
ing.  There  certainly  were  enough  going 
on  at  once  to-day,  and  a  good  many  of 
the  women  smoked. 

But  to  return  to  Mrs.  Burke.  When 
only  a  few  of  those  we  know  best  were 
left  this  afternoon,  and  Nadeshda  was 
smoking,  Jessie,  who  is  always  so  tact 
ful,  said  to  Robert:  "I'm  glad  to  see 
that  you  don't  object  to  Nadeshda's 
smoking." 

Mrs.  Burke  laughed.  "Why  should 
he?"  said  she.  "Why,  when  we  were 
children  ma  and  pa  used  to  sit  on  oppo 
site  sides  of  the  chimney,  smoking  their 
pipes.  And  ma  dipped,  too,  when  it  wasn't 
convenient  for  her  to  have  her  pipe." 

"Do you  smoke,  Mrs.  Burke?"  asked 
Jessie,  with  wide,  serious  eyes.  "I  never 
saw  you." 

185 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

"No,  I  don't,"  she  confessed.  "Tom 
used  to  hate  the  smell  of  it,  so  I  never 
got  into  the  habit." 

Nadeshda  was  tremendously  amused 
by  what  Mrs.  Burke  had  said  about 
pipes.  "I  didn't  know  it  was  consid 
ered  nice  for  a  lady  to  smoke  in  Amer 
ica  until  recently,"  said  she.  "And 
pipes!  How  eccentric!  Mama  smokes 
cigars — one  after  dinner,  but  I  never 
heard  of  a  lady  smoking  a  pipe." 

"Ma  wasn't  a  lady — what  you ' d  call 
a  lady,"  replied  Mrs.  Burke.  "She  was 
just  a  plain  woman.  She  didn't  smoke 
because  she  thought  it  was  fashionable, 
but  because  she  thought  it  was  comfort 
able.  As  soon  as  we  children  got  a  little 
older  we  used  to  be  terribly  ashamed  of 
it — but  she  kept  right  on.  And  now  it's 
come  in  style." 

"Not  pipes"  said  Jessie. 

1 86 


The-Social  Secreta^ 

"Not  yet"  said  "ma,"  with  a  smile. 

When  I  thought  they  had  all  gone, 
and  I  was  writing  in  my  "office"  for  a 
few  minutes  before  going  up  to  dress, 
Nadeshda  came  in  to  me.  "Ma"  Burke 
used  often  to  say  that  Nadeshda's  eyes 
were  "full  of  the  Old  Scratch,"  but  cer 
tainly  they  were  not  at  that  moment. 
She  was  giving  me  a  glimpse  of  that 
side  which,  as  Browning,  I  think,  says, 
even  the  meanest  creature  has  and  shows 
only  to  the  person  he  or  she  loves. 
Not  that  Nadeshda  loves  me,  but  she 
has  that  side  turned  outermost  nowa 
days  whenever  she  hasn't  the  veil  drawn 
completely  over  her  real  self. 

"My  dear,"  she  said  in  French,  "what 
is  it?  Why  these  little  smiles  all  after 
noon  whenever  you  forgot  where  you 
were?" 

I  couldn't  help  blushing.    "I  don't 


The  Social  Secreta^s 

quite  know,  myself/'  I  replied — and  it 
was  so. 

"Oh,  you  cold,  cold,  cold  Americans  !"f 
— then  she  paused  and  gave  me  one  of 
her  strange  smiles,  with  her  eyes  elon 
gated  and  her  lips  just  parted — "I  mean,j 
you  American  women." 

"Cold,  because  we  don't  set  ourselves 
on  fire?"  I  inquired. 

"But  yes,"  she  answered,  "yourselves, 
and  the  men,  too.  Never  mind.  I  shall 
not  peep  into  your  little  secret."  She 
laughed.  "It  always  chills  me  to  grope 
round  in  one  of  your  cold  American 
women's  hearts." 

"I  wish  you  could  tell  me  what  my 
secret  is — and  that's  the  plain  truth," 
said  I. 

She  laughed  again,  shrugged  her 
shoulders,  pinched  my  cheek,  nodded 
her  head  until  her  big  plumed  hat  was 
188 


The  Social  SecretaGS 

all  in  £  quiver  and  was  shaking  out  vol 
umes  of  the  strong,  heavy  perfume  she 
uses.  And  without  saying  anything 
more  she  went  away. 

March  4.  Cyrus  and  I  sat  next  each 
other  at  dinner  at  the  Secretary  of  War's 
to-night.  It  has  happened  several  times 
this  winter,  as  the  precedence  is  often 
very  difficult  to  arrange  at  small  din 
ners.  Old  Alex  Bartlett  took  me  in,  and 
as  he's  stone  deaf  and  a  monstrous  eater 
I  was  free. 

Cyrus  had  taken  in  a  silent  little  girl 
who  has  just  come  out.  She  had  ex 
hausted  her  little  line  of  prearranged 
conversation  before  the  fish  was  taken 
away.  So  Cyrus  talked  to  me. 

"She's  grateful  for  my   letting  her 

alone,"  said  he  when  I  tried  to  turn 

him  back  to   his  duty.    "Besides,  if  I 

didn't  meet  you  out  once  in  a  while 

189 


The  Social  SecretaG£ 

you'd  forget  me  entirely.  And  I  don't 
want  that,  if  I  can  avoid  it." 

"Thank  you/'  said  I,  for  lack  of  any 
thing  else  to  say,  and  with  not  the  re 
motest  intention  of  irritating  him.  But 
he  flushed  scarlet,  and  frowned. 

"You  always  and  deliberately  miscon 
strue  everything  I  say,"  said  he  bitterly. 
"I  know  I'm  unfortunate  in  trying  to 
express  myself  to  you,  but  why  do  you 
never  attribute  to  me  anything  but  the 
worst  intentions?" 

"And  why  should  you  assume  that 
every  careless  reply  I  make  is  a  care 
fully  thought  out  attack  on  you?"  I  re 
torted.  "Don't  you  think  your  vanity 
makes  you  morbid?" 

"You  know  perfectly  well  that  it 
isn't  vanity  that  makes  me  think  you 
especially  dislike  me,"  said  he. 

"But  I  don't,"  I  answered.  "I  con- 
190 


The  Social  Secretaos 

fess  I  did  at  first,  but  not  since  I've  come 
to  know  you  better." 

"Why  did  you  dislike  me  at  first ?" 
he  asked.  "You  began  on  me  with  al 
most  the  first  moment  of  our  acquaint 


ance.'3 


"That's  true— I  did,"  I  admitted.  "I 
had  a  reason  for  it — didn't  Nadeshda  tell 
you  what  it  was?" 

He  looked  frightened. 

"Be  frank,  if  you  want  me  to  be 
frank,"  said  I. 

"I  never  for  an  instant  believed  what 
she  said,"  he  replied  abjectly.  Then 
after  a  warning  look  from  me,  he  added 
— "Really  believed  it,  I  mean." 

"And  what  was  it  that  you  didn't 
really  believe?"  I  demanded. 

He  looked  at  me  boldly.  "Nadeshda 
and  one  or  two  others  told  me  that  you 
and  your  friends  had  arranged  it  for  me 
191 


The  Social  Secreta^ 

to  marry  you.  But,  of  course,  I  knew  it 
wasn't  so." 

"But  it  was  so,"  I  replied.  "You 
were  one  of  the  considerations  that  de 
termined  my  friends  in  trying  to  get 
me  my  .place." 

"Well — and  why  didn't  you  take  me 
when  I  finally  fell  into  the  trap?" 

I  let  him  see  I  was  laughing  at  him. 

He  scowled — his  cowlick  did  look 
so  funny  that  I  longed  to  pull  it.  "Simply 
couldn't  stand  me — not  even  for  the 
sake  of  what  I  brought,"  he  said.  And 
then  he  gave  me  a  straight,  searching 
look.  "I  wonder  why  I  don't  hate  you," 
he  went  on.  "I  wonder  why  I  am  such 
an  ass  as  to  care  for  you.  Yes — even  if 
I  knew  you  didn't  care  for  me,  still  I'd 
want  you.  Can  a  man  make  a  more  de 
grading  confession  than  that?" 

"But  why?"  said  I,  very  careful  not 
192 


The  SocialSecretacs 

to  let  him  see  how  eagerly  I  longed  to 
hear  him  say  the  words  again.  "Why 
should  you  want — me?" 

He  gave  a  very  unpleasant  laugh.  "If 
you  think  I'm  going  to  sit  here  and  ex 
hibit  my  feelings  for  your  amusement 
you're  going  to  be  disappointed.  It's 
none  of  your  business  why.  Certainly 
not  because  I  find  anything  sweet  or 
amiable  or  even  kind  in  you." 

"That's  rude,"  said  I. 

"It  was  intended  to  be,"  said  he. 

"Please — let's  not  quarrel  now,"  said 
I  coldly.  "It  gives  me  the  headache 
to  quarrel  during  dinner." 

And  he  answered  between  his  set 
teeth,  "To  quarrel  with  you — anywhere 
— gives  me — the  heartache,  Gus." 

I  had  no  answer  for  that,  nor  should 
I  have  had  the  voice  to  utter  it  if  I 
had  had  it.  And  then  Mr.  Bartlett  be- 


The  Social  SecretaG£ 

gan  prosing  to  me  about  the  Greeley- 
Grant  campaign.  And  when  the  men 
came  to  join  the  women  after  dinner 
Cyrus  went  away  almost  immediately. 

I  am  so  happy  to-night. 

March  5.  Cyrus  came  to  me  in  my 
office  to-day — as  I  had  expected.  But 
instead  of  looking  woebegone  and  abject, 
he  was  radiant.  He  shut  the  door  be 
hind  him.  " Tou — guilty  of  cowardice/' 
he  began.  "It  isn't  strange  that  I  never 
suspected  it." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  I  asked,  not 
putting  down  my  pen. 

He  came  over  and  took  it  out  of  my 
fingers,  then  he  took  my  fingers  and 
kissed  them,  one  by  one.  I  was  so 
astounded — and  something  else — that  I 
made  not  the  slightest  resistance.  "It's 
useless  for  you  to  cry  out,"  he  said,  "for 
I've  got  the  outer  door  well  guarded." 
194 


The  Social  SecretaGS 

I  started  up  aflame  with  indignation. 
"Who — whom — "  I  began. 

"Ma,"  he  replied. 

"Oh!"  I  exclaimed,  looking  round 
with  a  wild  idea  of  making  a  dart  for 
liberty. 

"  Ma,"  he  repeated,  "and  it's  not  of  the 
slightest  use  for  you  to  try  to  side-step. 
You're  cornered."  He  had  both  my 
hands  now  ~nd  was  looking  at  me  at 
arm's  length.  "So  you  are  afraid  to 
marry  me  for  fear  people — your  friends 
— will  say  that — I  walked  right  into 
the  trap?" 

I  hung  my  head  and  couldn't  keep 
from  trembling,  I  was  so  ashamed. 

"And  if  it  wasn't  for  that  you'd  ac 
cept  my  'proposition' — now — wouldn't 
you?"  ' 

"I  would  not,"  I  replied,  wrenching 
myself  away  with  an  effort  that  put  my 

195 


The  Social  Secretac£ 

hair  topsy-turvy — it  always  does  try  to 
come  down  if  I  make  a  sudden  move 
ment,  and  I  washed  it  only  yesterday. 

"What  gorgeous  hair  you  have!"  he 
said.  "Sometimes  I've  caught  a  glimpse 
of  it  just  as  I  was  entering  a  room — 
and  I've  had  to  retreat  and  compose 
myself  to  make  a  fresh  try." 

"You've  been  talking  to  your  moth 
er!"  I  exclaimed — I'd  been  casting  about 
for  an  explanation  of  all  this  sudden 
shrewdness  of  his  in  ways  feminine. 

"I  have,"  said  he.  "It's  as  important 
to  her  as  to  me  that  you  don't  escape." 

"And  she  told  you  that  I  was  in  love 
with  you!"  I  tried  to  put  a  little — not 
too  much — scorn  into  the  "you." 

"She  did,"  he  answered.  "Do  you 
deny  that  it's  true?" 

"  I  have  told  you  I  would  never  accept 
your  *  proposition,' "  was  my  answer. 
196 


The  Social  Secret aes 

"So  you  did,"  said  he.  "Then  you 
mean  that  you're  going  to  sacrifice  my 
mother's  happiness  and  mine,  simply 
because  you're  afraid  of  being  accused 
of  mercenary  motives?" 

"I  shall  never  accept  your  *  proposi 
tion,'"  I  repeated,  with  a  faint  smile 
that  was  a  plain  hint. 

He  came  very  close  to  me  and  looked 
down  into  my  face.  "What  do  you 
mean  by  that?"  he  demanded.  And 
then  he  must  have  remembered  what  his 
proposition  was — a  strictly  business  ar 
rangement  on  both  sides.  For,  with  a 
sort  of  gasp  of  relief,  he  took  me  in  his 
arms.  I  do  love  the  combination  of 
strength  and  tenderness  in  a  man.  He 
had  looked  and  talked  and  been  so 
strong  up  to  that  instant.  Then  he  was 
so  tender — I  could  hardly  keep  back  the 
tears. 

197 


The^Social  Secret aos 

"Wouldn't  you  like  me  to  tell  moth 
er?"  he  asked.  "She's  just  in  the  next 
room — and — " 

I  nodded  and  said,  "I  never  should 
have  caught  you  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
her." 

"Nor  I  you,"  said  he.  And  he  put 
me  in  a  chair  and  opened  the  door.  I 
somehow  couldn't  look  up,  though  I 
knew  she  was  there. 

"I  don't  know  whether  to  laugh  or 
cry,"  said  "ma"  Burke.  "So  I  guess 
I'll  just  do  both."  And  then  she  seated 
herself  and  was  as  good  as  her  word. 


STORED  AT  MR'J 

THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  SANTA  CRUZ 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  DATE  stamped  below. 


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